


Call It What You Want

by fiveisarat



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Abusive Parents, Alternate Universe - Bodyguard, Angst, Bisexual Edward Nygma, Canon-Typical Violence, Cats, Character Death, Completed, Domestic Fluff, Edward Nygma - Freeform, Episode: s03e14 The Gentle Art of Making Enemies, Everyone Is Gay, Fluff, Hallucinations, Kidnapping, Kissing, Love, M/M, M/M/M, Major Character Injury, Minor Kristen Kringle/Edward Nygma, Nygmobblepot, Obsessive Behavior, Original Characters - Freeform, Oswald Cobblepot - Freeform, POV Original Character, Pining Oswald Cobblepot, Possessive Behavior, Post-Episode: s03e14 The Gentle Art of Making Enemies, Unrequited Love, lots of pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-09
Updated: 2020-08-14
Packaged: 2021-03-06 05:41:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 15
Words: 23,264
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25808281
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fiveisarat/pseuds/fiveisarat
Summary: "I'm not a bad person, but I'd do bad things for you."~~When Five Jackson, a Gotham drug dealer who works for the Penguin witnesses a mass killing at the club where he works, he just knows his life is about to change. The murderer at the club, Edward Nygma and his alternate personality are increasingly fascinated by him while the Penguin has no idea of Five's affections for him. As the three try to work with their feelings for each other on their own, a plot unfolds in the background to kill someone important to Edward, reeling Five in whether he likes it or not.
Relationships: Edward Nygma/Original Male Character(s), Nygmobblepot - Relationship, Oswald Cobblepot/Edward Nygma, Oswald Cobblepot/Edward Nygma/Original Male Character(s), Oswald Cobblepot/Original Male Character(s)
Kudos: 8





	1. ...Ready For It?

**Author's Note:**

> Gotham Penguin (Oswald Cobblepot)/Riddler (Edward Nygma)/OC  
> See if you can figure out the chapter titles...
> 
> ~~
> 
> copyright 2020, fiveisarat and bambiebeckett, only original characters are mine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some people are catalysts.
> 
> Five comes face to face with a person from his past, one that he hoped to never see again. But their reappearance in his life may be better for him than he thought.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is Penguin x Riddler x OC, and takes place mid-Gotham, during season 3 and parts of s4. (Spoilers! Duh.)
> 
> Things you should know about this fic:
> 
> Gabe, one of Oswald's goons, is canonically the one to cut the brakes on Isabella's car. In this fic, our main character Five does it.
> 
> Here we go! Hope you like it. (This is also on Wattpad: @bambiebeckett)

**POV Five Jackson (pre season 3, post Kristen Kringle's death, Edward is out of Arkham)**   
  
  


**_~ two weeks ago ~_ **

"Kristen," I whisper, body rigid with shock. My heart is a yawning chasm threatening to swallow me whole. I cannot even register what I'm witnessing.

My estranged older sister is _dead._ Just as I found her again. Just as we were starting to work our way out of our father's abusive embrace.

No, instead, she's dead at the hands of a... a _nerd_ from the GCPD who shouldn't even be let out of his house. And what I should have done, was killed him where he stood with her body. I didn't.

Let me rewind.

I had four other siblings. An brother who died of malnutrition in infancy, two sisters, one older, one much younger; and a brother just a year older than me- all dead now, of course. Or so I thought. One sister dead by my father's hand, my older brother was shot by the GCPD for trying to steal food to feed our little brother. My other sister was supposedly abducted. One day she just disappeared. She was the first to go.

Until a week ago, when I discovered her again, under a fake last name, working for the very police department that killed our sibling. In a way, it couldn't have been a better coverup- nobody'd expect _us_ to work for the GCPD.

I'd reached out- talked to her. We went out for coffee. She cried at the deaths of everyone else when I recounted them. She was the best big sister i could have hoped for.

And now she's gone, my blood is running cold and I'm following the man carrying her fucking _corpse_ to the police.

_I swear, if it's the last thing I do, I'll make you regret this._

**_~ present ~_ **

**_POV Five Jackson, post Kristen's death but before Riddler's escape from Arkham_ **

"Absolutely fucking not," I swear, making for a back exit in the club. He's _here,_ holding up the place, demanding information. I don't know who he thinks is in here, but obviously it isn't who he's looking for. All of the people in this dingy club are addicts or dealers. My friends.

Not only that, but I'd know his face anywhere. He's the man who killed my sister. I'm not afraid of him. No, I'm so angry I could kill him where he stands with no regrets. I knew he was a killer from the first time I saw him. But I don't. He's got a gun and I have... knives. I'm alright at throwing them but I don't want to cause more of a scene. It is _literally_ bringing a knife to a gunfight. 

I'm not looking to die today.

"You! Stop." I hear his voice, _Nygma's_ voice, and stop, tense. I don't turn around to look at him. I don't want to ever see him again.

There is no one else alive in the club. It's too quiet. My fists clench. I feel like I'm going to explode.

"Shut up," I hiss, finally.

"Who are you?" I whirl to face him, clenching my teeth.

"Don't talk to me."

"Who do you work for?" Nygma asks. It's obvious hes trying not to lose it with me.

"What do you want?" I answer a question with another question.

"I've been cheated," he says, walking forward. "One of Penguin's goons tried to turn us both in and I want to know where he is. He runs this club. Or he did." He's close enough that if I reached out just a little I'd be able to touch his shoulder.

Penguin.

_Don't kill him yet._

"Give me a name." I say, closing my eyes and biting back a sigh.

"Hugo Grant," he tells me, and I nod. Grant was already dead- I'd shot him myself. Penguin had figured out that he had a parasite in his organization about a week before. He'd sent someone to kill Grant- they turned out to be on the same side. I'd been dealing outside the club as usual when I overheard them talking about their scheme. I took a gun from another dealer and shot them both. Their plot was probably still alive and thriving but I'd never heard about it, and I'd shoot anyone considering turning all of us in.

"Dead," I look away.

Nygma arches an eyebrow. "Dead?"

"Yeah," I say tersely. "Shot him and his buddy myself."

"Oh," he says, looking around at the bodies on the floor.

"Yeah," I snap. "Fucking _oh_." I'm back to being pissed off- Hugo had only taken my mind off it for a moment and I push past the man to examine the faces of the dead. Blake, an addict. He was trying to go to rehab until we were summoned here- he probably relapsed. He was three days clean from what I remember. Peter, almost like my little brother. An ambitious guy, smart. He wanted to take this place back from Hugo before I killed him, wanted to run it fairly. As fairly as you can run anything in Gotham, anyway.

And Kristen. It's like I'm seeing her, dead on the floor with all the other bodies. Tears well up in my eyes. _No. Not here._

"Why are you so mad?" And I have to stop myself from screaming. His voice is quiet, genuine confusion showing.

"Nothing," I force out. "Can I go?"

"Who are you." Nygma asks. It is more of a statement now. An order. I grit my teeth and decide to grant him an answer.

"Nobody." I pull the hood of my gray hoodie over my head and give him a wicked smile. It is the smile of someone looking to hurt someone else. I take the opportunity of his shocked silence to slip out of the club. He makes no move to stop me. My lips twitch up in a semblance of a smile as I remember the familiar lines of poetry. _I'm nobody, who are you? Are you nobody too?_

It's starting to rain a little, because of course it is. Someone else's blood is on my face and I wipe some of it away. I step out of the alley and into the streets of Gotham. I worry a little about him seeing my face; he probably won't come after me but I'm not taking any chances.

I take a hard left turn and start running. I'm headed to Penguin's place. Maybe he'll let me sleep over or something. I've slept in odd places, floors, windowsills, pavement, so wherever he puts me up I'll be fine. I slow from my run and let the rain seep into my hair. Doesn't matter. My hair is the last thing that does right now.

I approach the house and slip through the gates. I knock on the door and the maid opens it- she looks down her nose at me and I look down at myself. Huh. I do look like a gutter rat.

"Five! Do let him in, thank you," I hear Penguin say, shuffling across the floor to stand behind the maid, who steps aside. He... remembers my name? I'm a dealer. Nobody important. And I haven't seen him since I was first hired almost four months ago.

"Hey sir," I say, shoving my hands in my pockets and looking at him directly. I smile slightly. "Figured you should know about this," I wipe at my cheek again and show him the somewhat-fresh blood. "Nygma stopped by the club. Killed everyone in there. Looking for Hugo Grant."

Penguin just stares at me for a moment, looking from my fingers to my face and back again. "Grant? You told me you killed him."

"Yeah. Had to explain that to him in a club filled with dead bodies. I'm assuming he acted alone, not knowing that. Can I come in?" I ask bluntly.

"Did you speak to him?" He inquires, stepping aside to let me through.

"He was looking for Grant. Said he'd been about to turn both of you in, which we already knew. I told him what I did. He asked for my name and I didn't give it." I explain.

Penguin nods. "Good," he says. I take that moment as his back is turned to look at his absolutely ridiculous hair. Makes him look younger, it's spiky and parts weirdly but I think- if I'm going to be honest- it's kinda cute. 

Look, I know. I should just shut up. I'm a henchman, a dealer. I work in one of the most crime-riddled cities in the world and I'm calling my psychopathic boss cute. What even is my life.

I follow him down a dimly lit hallway to the dining room, where I guess I've interrupted his meal. Oops. He turns to face me and I shove my hands back into my pockets. I honestly hope he didn't catch me staring. I look down, then back up at him again. The silence is eerie.

"Anything else?" He asks. I shake my head.

"No sir," I say, then smirk a little. "Although I'm thinking, what with all the changes we're seeing in Gotham lately, you need a bodyguard." _What the fuck am I doing? A bodyguard?_ I hadn't even thought that through! My brain to mouth filter is apparently broken. Way to work a raise in there, Jackson, you idiot.

"A bodyguard," Cobblepot says, the corner of his mouth twitching up into a semblance of a smile. It looks a little creepy.

"Sir," I nod. "Lots of people want you dead. You're running for mayor. Lots of people want to turn you in. You and Nygma both. Some would argue that you need one."

"Are you insinuating that my men can't handle their jobs?"

"No, sir. But you might need backup. Some people can't be trusted. Plus- you already employ me." I rock back on my heels and lean back against the wall. He smiles, a little more this time. I have to clench my fists behind my back to stop myself from grinning like an idiot. I still my face into an expression of innocence. He looks at me for a moment and I'm reminded of how I got here.

_I had been a homeless, suicidal, half-crazed person four months ago. Everyone I had loved was either dead or had left. I had nothing._

_That's when I saw him- the Penguin. On a cloudy day outside he was just walking, no one around. In one of the worst neighborhoods in Gotham. But everyone knew not to try anything. He was most certainly armed and absolutely dangerous. He looked down at me-_

_"Can you shoot?" He asked._

_Bewildered, I looked up and answered honestly. "Yes," I replied._

_"Any problems with breaking the law a little?" His eyes were twinkling and my breath caught._

_"None," I said. I couldn't stop myself from staring. To put it plainly- he was beautiful, almost like an angel come to rescue me from myself. Hey, self-control has never been my strong suit._

_"Good. How would you like a job?" He extended his hand and I took it, lifting myself off the ground. He shook it eagerly, and told me to get in the car._

_"What's your name?" He asked. I pressed my lips together. The name my parents had given me didn't fit me anymore. It sounded like it belonged to a naive child, with hope and light. That was no longer me. He smirked as if he could read my thoughts. "You can always pick a new one. No one will know," and I took a deep breath._

_I wanted to remember my siblings always. They were my family, the only family I wanted to have. All dead now, but they were home. If you knew my name, you would keep their memories alive._

_"Five," I said. He nodded and motioned for the driver to start the car._

_He'd outfitted me with new clothes, a gun and a shit ton of cocaine and sent me out._

And now here I am again, with the most dangerous man in Gotham, and I'm supposed to not fuck this up. But making messes of good things is what I do best.


	2. End Game

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's important to know your limits, and to know your place. Sometimes that can take time. But that's time Five might not have.

**POV Five Jackson**

When I wake up, the sun is finally out, streaming through the windows of the guest room I was offered last night. I gladly took it- sleeping on pavement does a number on your back. I slept like a baby.

Where was I? Oh. The sun. That shit hits me dead in the eyes and wakes me up. I slide my hand under my pillow and retrieve the knife I hid there last night. I'm one to have many weapons on me at all times. You can never be too careful in Gotham. I've got a few others in the messenger bag dumped beside the bed, a gun, a magazine for it. I'm well armed. And if I'm going to be protecting Penguin from the crazy shit he gets himself into, i should be ready for anything.

I slip on my boots, sturdy black combat lace-ups and try to get my hair in order in front of the mirror across the room. The black strands fall all over the fucking place and I just shake my head- it's been worse. It's been worse and I'll live with it.

I have to take a breath. I came face to face with my sister's killer last night and the need for _vengeance,_ the fire is effectively relit. I remember the smell of her perfume as she hugged me for the last time. We'd planned to meet again.

I walk out of the room, careful not to make much noise. But it's to no avail- everybody's up already. I'm at the doorway to the dining room where Penguin and Nygma are at the head of the table,!reading the newspaper. It looks like Penguin's bathed in the sunlight streaming in from the window behind him. He's... really fucking handsome. I stop and take a breath. I have to stop. He looks up just as I reach up to ruffle my hair again (nervous habit).

"Good morning," he smiles at me. "Come in, there's bound to be some food left over. Olga?" He calls to the maid, who nods brusquely and sweeps into the kitchen. "Sit," he instructs. Wordlessly I drop into the chair nearest to me, two seats away from him and Nygma. I stuff down a yawn.

Olga places a plate of toast, eggs and bacon in front of me. Holy shit. The grin that breaks into my face feels like it's going to split my cheeks. I didn't have to steal this. I didn't have to worry about being shot to get it. I'm being too sentimental but it's the truth. I look up and thank her, and I see her normally stoic expression twitch a little. That makes the smile on my face even bigger.

I barely hear Penguin chuckling softly behind me as I work my way through the pile of food. It's amazing. I don't even realize Penguin watching me until I sit back, finally finished. His smile is small, and I'm struck by the way I've done this.

_You are an idiot._

Did I just? I just waltzed on in here, told a crime lord and his crazy right hand guy that they need a babysitter and then let my guard down completely to eat like a starving warthog. There was no plan, and bad execution of whatever I thought I was doing, and I _know_ I'm better than this.

But somehow his smile makes up for it.

I know he's not going to kill me. I haven't done anything wrong. I've killed traitors for him, sold drugs for him, and I think I'm safe enough. I remind myself of how quickly that can change, just to make sure I'm not going soft.

He clears his throat and my head shoots up just enough to watch him through a few strands of my dark ginger hair.

"So. I do have a few meetings today."

My heart drops, although it really should not, and I nod.

"Yeah," I say, standing up. The chair pushes back as he just looks up at me. "I should..." I mumble, jerking a thumb towards the door. I'm jittery, it's another nervous habit.

"Wait," he says. And I stop, brain whirring with anxieties even though nothing's even happened yet. "You said I needed a bodyguard. Well," he says, leaning over the table slightly and smirking. "I hope you're up for it. We-" he looks at Nygma, who's watching me carefully. I want to slap him. "We'll take you up on that."

My eyes widen. "You- you want meto-"

He cuts me off before I can overthink this. "You suggested it," he pauses and his eyebrows draw together as he watches me. Waiting for my response.

"Sure," I decide. Another impulse-driven decision. _You're a sucker, see a pretty pair of eyes and you're down for the count. Typical._ His green-hazel eyes pin me to the floor. "Sure," I repeat, shoving my hands in my pockets, still standing behind my chair. "I'll do it." What I'm walking into I don't know, but shit, right now, I'd follow those eyes anywhere. I want to be his A-team. First string. I want him to like me.

And Nygma? I don't care. 

_What the fuck are you doing, idiot?_

He smirks, all nervousness gone. "We leave in twenty," he says, and I return his wicked smile.

"Ready when you are," I say and pause, grinning. "Sir."

He laughs loudly and sweeps out of the room, Nygma going with him. I return to the guest room, making sure I didn't leave anything. I pick up my bag and open it, looking at the contents. A gun, three knives, extra ammo. Nothing I couldn't conceal on me, but I can't be found with a sandwich bag of coke and one of acid on me. I hold the bags bunched in my fist and close my eyes. I'm leaving the drugs and the addicts behind. I'm _somebody_ now, and I'm not throwing away my chance to mean something.

After all, I owe Penguin- he fished me from the gutter and dusted me off, made me new. So I have a debt to pay off. Maybe I'll never be finished, and maybe I'm okay with that.

I laugh a little, opening my hand and letting the bags drop to the floor. I think I'm crazy.

"Five!" I hear him call and I follow the sound into another room, where he's examining two ties. I almost laugh.

"Sir?" I say, leaning against the doorframe. He jerks his chin at the two ties.

"Which one?" he asks.

"What?" I try to chase the thought that maybe this is a test, I don't think he'd do that.

"Which _one_ ," he stresses. There's a black one with gray pinstripes in his right hand and I dismiss it. It's too plain for the Penguin. The other, on the left, is a purple one with an almost harlequin-diamond pattern in darker purple and silver lining. I point at it, and I'm rewarded with a wide smile.

So it was a test. And I've inadvertently passed. I just let my expression even out and watch _careful, don't stare at his ass,_ him turn to the mirror and tie said tie. One of my hands is in my pocket, fiddling with the switchblade inside, the other's hanging at my side.

"Where's-" I start.

"Taking his time, as usual," Penguin rolls his eyes. "Alright," he says and walks out of the room, and I follow, half a pace behind him. I'm not fucking stupid. I know he's the king of Gotham's criminal underworld, and I've seen how other people act around him. Only Ed seems to walk next to him.

"I'll have the car pulled around and we'll go over. Shouldn't be a long meeting, this first one, but the company we'll be keeping bores me half to death." His melodrama has me snorting, and he shoots me a look that I can't decipher. Nygma comes down the stairs, nods to Penguin, and fixes me with another weird look.

"So is my job to keep them from hurting you or you from hurting them?" I say, determined not to let the man in the green suit ruin my mood. I'm stifling a laugh, and Penguin waves a hand.

"They're potential investors. I can't shoot them, as much as I'd like to." He says.

"Good to know, sir," I say, and Penguin opens the door just as the driver opens the door. He gets in the back with Nygma, and the driver waves me up front. It's quiet on the way over to the building where they're meeting.

We walk in the room and while other henchmen are stationed around the room, I see a few eyes on me. I ignore them and lean against the wall behind and just to the right of Penguin's seat at the head of the table.

They talk business, things I don't understand, about the money being raked in by clubs and dealers, smugglers and thieves. Penguin's bravado keeps them in line, thinly veiled threats paired with genuinely funny jokes. His charisma has an almost scary edge to it and while he dazzles the room, everyone in it is aware of what he can do. He's threatening on his own, I don't even have to glare at anybody. His short stature and limp do nothing to disguise how dangerous he truly is.

Nygma is almost as scary- he looks like a beanpole, yes, but he calls people out when they start lying to Penguin. He drops facts like bombs. 

The meeting wraps up soon after, with Penguin satisfied with the outcome. Does this man really need a guard? The dude is the king of Gotham's crime world and his reputation alone gives most people cause to avoid him.

 _That's also partially the reason he needs one,_ and I agree. Reputation alone won't stop everyone.


	3. I Did Something Bad

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Five has to prove himself, and put his future plans on hold for his boss.

**POV Five Jackson**   
  
  


There are two more meetings ahead of us, and between them, Penguin makes nasty cracks at the people from the last one. Sometimes he'll ask my opinion on what had happened, and I try to take the safest route and agree with him. But mostly he sticks with talking to Nygma. That's fine. I know my place.

The third meeting is... special. From the moment the club owner saunters into the room I know he's trouble. And from the way Penguin's fingers tighten around the head of his cane, he knows it too.

"So. What do you have for me?" Penguin asks, leaning back in his chair.

"Well, hello to you as well," he says, and I absolutely cannot believe he's doing this. I can be a cocky guy too, but I know better than to try to engage a mobster in pleasantries. This means one of two things- he's either knee-deep in trouble and is trying to cover it up, or he thinks he's hot shit and can outsmart the Penguin. I've seen that look on too many people on the streets and it never ends well. And either way, he's in for a rude awakening.

Penguin fixes him with a hard stare. "How much are you pulling in?" He asks, and from the man's hard swallow we all know that whatever he's making, it isn't enough.

"15,000," he says. Penguin makes a _tsk_ ing noise and rises from the chair. I press my body against the wall to let him pass me. Nygma's wearing a creepy little smile. Penguin circles the other man, hands landing on his shoulders.

"And what are you _supposed_ to be making?" He says. He doesn't need any emphasis, everyone in the room knows this guy is fucked.

"30,000. Sir." the businessman stutters.

"Yes, and you're making _half_ that." Penguin looks up and locks eyes with me. "One of my men could run your business better than you. Do you water down your drinks?"

"Actually," he continues, removing his hands. "One of my men _will_ run that place better than you. Because this is the end of the line for you, Owens."

Owens goes pale and I can see a nervous sweat start to form by his forehead. He's fucked and we all know it. Penguin takes a handgun from his pocket and aims it between the man's eyes.

"What do you think, Five? Kill him now or make him suffer?" He doesn't look at me as he asks. I know it's another test. It's still terrifying to be on the receiving end of his intense focus.

"I think," I say, "That you should make an example of him." Owens splutters. _Don't open your mouth, Owens. You're lowering the IQ of the whole street._

"You're having one of your cronies decide this? You really are crazy," He spits. I glare, and Penguin turns and places the gun on the table. If anyone's crazy, it's this guy for being a dick.

"Take him away," he instructs the other men coldly, and Owens is dragged from the room. The tension is gone from the space like a string being cut. I stay silent. I don't want his temper turned on me. 

"Senile." he sighs, reaching up to rub at his temple. "Some people don't know respect, do they?" It seems like a question I'm not supposed to answer, but I mutely shake my head if it is. Nygma does the same.

"I think-" he starts, but he doesn't finish because the door is blown off its hinges and two burly men with insane tattoos and guns face us.

"Penguin. Where's Owens," the first one growls.

"Owens broke the rules. That means punishment," Nygma says smoothly, covering for Penguin's shock.

"He's got friends in high places," the second one says. "You'll regret this."

"I don't care," Penguin says. "Nobody in Gotham is higher up than I am. Now get out before I have this one mop the floor with you." He gestures towards me with a finger.

The first goon looks over at me and laughs. "This guy? Yeah. Sure, do it," he dares. The audacity of some people. I flick open my switchblade but then think, and put it away. I won't need it for this one.

"Come on, pretty boy, do your worst," he taunts. Penguin looks at me, but I'm watching _them_.

I'm pulling a gun from my pocket and shooting the second goon dead between the eyes. I don't care about him. It's the first one I want to handle. The next two bullets shatter the bones in the first goon's hands. The gun drops to the floor. He screams and I just grit my teeth and stalk over, stowing the pistol. I tuck my foot behind his ankle and place my hands on his shoulder. A little pressure and he goes to the floor. I'm behind him in an instant and put him into a nice chokehold.

"What'd you call me?" I growl. He just gasps and squirms. "What'd you _call me,_ " I snap, tightening my grip ever so slightly..

"P-pretty boy," he gasps out. I grin wickedly down at him.

"Exactly. Say it again."

"Pretty boy." I never did trust a narcissist. Thinking they're hot shit. But apparently they love me. 

"I'm flattered," I say, voice lower. "I don't know why you insist on using it as an insult. _I want to be the prettiest boy you've ever seen_ ," and I tighten my grip. He flails and tries to kick me loose, but every movement jars his hands and he lets out whimpers occasionally. He's still trying to hide the pain. Idiot.

After a few minutes, he goes limp.

I stand, nudging his body to make sure he's no longer alive. I look up and Penguin's smiling at me, a small, devious smile. 

"Very nice," he says and offers polite applause. I return the smile. Nygma's watching me appraisingly. 

"Thank you, sir," I say and brush imaginary lint off of my black shirt. He smirks.

"We should be going." He says. He's not even shaken. Of course not. He probably gets death threats every day. "I have some things to attend to." I nod.

I don't pretend to know what he means but I nod anyway, following him out of the building. The car ride back is short, and when we walk into the house, he turns and tells me he's going to plan some things out with Nygma.

"Alright," I say, flopping down into an armchair and cleaning my knife on the hem of my shirt.

God help me. This whole thing throws a wrench in my plans to kill Nygma somehow. To put him through something. Make him suffer for what he did. Because he's my boss' best friend, right hand man. I can't do this with me this close to Penguin. Fortunately, what I've got for Penguin is a crush, an infatuation bound to leave any day now. Once it does, I'll go after riddle boy.


	4. Don’t Blame Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Five gets a domestic moment with the most dangerous man in Gotham, and reunites with an old friend who might be more trouble than she's worth.

**POV Five Jackson**   
  
  


The next week passes in the same fashion- Penguin has meetings or places he needs to be and I go along. When we return to the manor he either has work or Nygma is home, and they talk. I usually decide to leave them to it. They're criminals, good ones, they don't need a bodyguard in their own home. Sometimes I wonder, though- Nygma killed Kristen, what's stopping him from pulling a knife on Oswald?

But then I see the way Oswald looks at him and I leave them alone.

Today, it's a Tuesday and they're together, so I slip out the door and place my hands in my pockets, watching the clouds pass the city by. It's only about noon- two meetings this morning. And I should probably eat something. But what the hell- I've starved before. I can skip a meal if I want.

I don't know where I'm walking, exactly, but pretty soon I'm in a little park just across from a bank. I'm barely there ten minutes before I hear cars pulling up and a loud, high laugh.

Andrew. Oh no.

Andrew and his girlfriend, Annalise, have been trying to climb up in the Gotham crime world. Their brand just consists of petty thievery, low crimes, but they think they're all that. I know- I used to be friends with Annalise when we were neighbors on the outskirts of Gotham. Now that they're considered a little dangerous, got some friends, they're no people I'd want to mess with. Andrew's trigger happy and Annalise is practically batshit.

In any case, they're robbing the bank, and I pull a knife from inside my boot. You can never be too careful. Yes, I'm Penguin's, but that's never stopped people from coming at me before. Plus Andrew and Annalise don't know who I run with now. 

They aren't alone either- there's Annalise's friend Hannah beside her, she's shooting at police and Annalise is fighting off a few other cops. It's clear she's overwhelmed- soon Hannah has disappeared into the fray and Andrew with her. I hear her scream with rage as one pulls a taser. Before the cop can tase her, though, I throw the knife and it hits him dead in the eye. The other officers flee and Annalise turns around. 

"You're good with a knife," she says, looking me up and down. No _hi,_ no _how are you doing._ Wasn't expecting it. She knows good and well who I am. She just doesn't want to remember what we were before. 

"Thanks," I grunt, pulling the knife from the cop's head and cleaning the blade on my pants.

"Who are you working for?" She asks as I follow her into the bank, where we hear Andrew's laugh and Hannah's gunshots. "I don't believe you're on your own." It's backhanded- the underlying message is _you're not good enough to run by yourself._

"Penguin," I say shortly. "Just passing by, saw this, and, you know," I gesture. "You looked like you needed some help."

Harley looks at me from the corner of her eye. "Yeah? Well, Andy'll like that. He doesn't like when I get hurt."

I nod, not knowing what to say. Andrew's kind of possessive over her. There's a reason Annalise and I don't talk anymore. 

In any case, We don't have to fight anyone else, because her boyfriend's few men are stowing money into black vans and there's nobody left alive to stop them. 

"Annie!" I hear his voice as he walks toward us. She squeals and leaps at him, kissing his cheek.

"Hey, darlin'!" She grins, all smiles.

"Who's that?" He asks, holding her close. 

"Oh! That's-"

"Five," I supply. I don't want her to say anything different.

"Five. Yeah," she narrows her eyes at me, but goes along with it anyway. Thank god. "He killed a cop who tried to tase me." She says. "Isn't that nice, Andy?"

"It is," and Andrew's calculating look gives me chills as he rakes his eyes over me. I remember then he's never seen me before, I've only ever heard about him from Annalise.

"Ooh, ooh, can he come with us to the club after?" Annalise asks, and I'm about to open my mouth to say _no, it's fine, I should be getting back home anyway_ (and when did Penguin's place become _home_ to me?) .

But then Andrew cuts in with, "I suppose." He rattles off an address (a club nearby that I know) and a time, 8:00. He fixes me with a stare. I know what he means- don't hit on Anna and don't be a dick. It makes me want to say something _(you're a dead man if you do, Jackson, you smartass-)_ because I'm about as gay as the day is long, so he's got nothing to worry about from me. 

They get into Andrew's black sports car and speed away. I walk back home.

Penguin is nowhere to be seen, probably upstairs working. He rarely goes anywhere during the afternoons unless it's important. Nygma's not here either. Good. I'm silent in the hallway as I go to make sure.

Penguin's here, working on something. I take a breath. Okay. At least I haven't failed at this yet. The sun hits him just right and I remember how truly fucked I am.

I know now, after a few days, that he doesn't like being disturbed while he works. That's fine, because this won't be a disturbance. I just walk in and plop down on the couch conveniently located across the room near the door. Good for watching him and the door at the same time. He barely looks up, so I take that as a good thing and toe off my boots. I swing my socked feet up onto the couch and bend my knees. Pulling my favorite paperback book from my sweater (black, and it's warm and cozy, with a little penguin on the back collar), I settle into the couch and open to a random page. I've read this so many times I can pick up the plot from anywhere in the book. 

The sun warms me as I read, the book is the first Harry Potter. One of my favorites when I could get my hands on it. Apparently they've made movies now, but I haven't seen them. Maybe I should get on that, see if it's any good.

The hours pass by like water through my fingers- gone incredibly quickly. It's quiet in here and nobody's distracting or interrupting us. The sun is beginning to set when I finally look up, having devoured the book easily.

Penguin has placed his pen down, is staring into the distance, thinking. I watch him completely unabashedly. I'm always watching. My job is to watch, so he doesn't have to. I have his back so he doesn't have to be both king and guard.

Maybe I'm taking this a little too far. But hey, I'm bodyguard to the kingpin of the criminal underworld. I get to have my moments. This man is going to drive me crazy with how convoluted and busy his life is, but hey, he's the king of Gotham. If he doesn't make me lose it over his recklessness he isn't doing his job right.

Then I remember it- the club, Andrew and Annalise. I pull out my phone. It's 6:30. I'm in no danger of running late, but I should get some food. Alcohol on an empty stomach never ends well. And by the looks of it, Penguin might need some too.

I get up and place the book down. He doesn't say anything, or even look my way, so I take the initiative and slip out of the room. Nobody's in the kitchen, thank god, and I make two sandwiches quickly. They're simple, turkey with cheese, lettuce and mayo. I figure if it's in the fridge, Penguin won't mind it.

I find a plate and stack the food on it. I climb the stairs again and enter the room. He looks up but I don't meet his gaze, feeling a little foolish. I offer him the bottom sandwich, so he gets the plate too, and sit back on the couch. Picking up the book, I take a bite. Not bad. When I look up again, he's looking at me. His eyes are... I can't identify the emotion and it makes me uneasy.

It's a warmer expression, it's not happiness per _se_ , but it's maybe- gratitude? My heart swells as he looks down and takes a bite of the sandwich.

All this and we didn't speak a word.

7:30 rolls around and I stand, stretching. I hear the bones in my back pop.

"You gonna be okay?" I ask, and I don't think about how it sounds before his head jerks up to fix me with a surprised stare. "Um. I'm going somewhere. Will you be fine here if I'm out?" I rephrase.

"Yes," he says, looking over the papers on his desk.

"Sleep at some point," I throw over my shoulder as I leave the room, boots in hand. It sounds remarkably domestic, and I make a point of trying not to dwell on it, or look back as I leave the room.


	5. Delicate

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Manhattans, jealousy, and stealing cars.

**POV Five Jackson**   
  


I go back to the guest room and replace my black sweater with a tight black t-shirt and a leather jacket I found for cheap at a thrift store. (Fun fact: that thrift store got robbed two days later. It's almost as if I'm bad luck.) Slipping out the door, I remember the address. Not far from the manor, so I can afford to walk.

But as I walk up- shit. I'd known the address sounded familiar but now that I'm here... I used to panhandle here. I'd forgotten it. But how could I? Especially now? This is The Sirens, Barbara Kean's place. She works for Penguin too. 

The bouncer lets me in when I tell him I'm with "Andy". I smirk as I shoulder past him. Nobody willingly fucks with Andrew. He's not very powerful but he is almost psychotic, which makes him less likely to be fucked with. I see Annalise dancing as Andrew watches from a booth, swirling a glass of what looks like whiskey in his hand. She spots me first and dashes over.

"Five!" she grins, hugging me and then pulling away to look at me. "Hot," she says, smoothing her hands over my upper forearms, covered by the jacket. "How about we get you a drink?" Without letting me get a word in edgewise (and really, what would I say?), she pulls me to the bar, waving down the bartender. He wipes down a glass and looks at me closely.

"Manhattan," he pronounces, and turns, starting to fill the glass.

"He's a whiz," Annalise says. "Looks at you and picks a drink. Mine was a Cosmopolitan. Little bitter but my Andy's teachin' me how to shoot vodka straight."

I nod and shove my hands into my pockets. The bartender turns and slides a cocktail glass over to me. Served straight up, without ice, and with a cherry speared on a toothpick, the whole thing looks- actually really good.

Annalise mistakes my surprise for worry. "Chill out," she giggles. "Andy's got a tab here." Of course he does. I pick up the glass and take a sip. It's a strong drink, with very little sweetness. It's good. I take another sip as the bartender looks increasingly smug. I give him a smile. What can I say? I'm shy. Anna giggles again and pulls me onto the dance floor.

"Uh oh," she says, mischief alight in her eyes. "He's lookin'," and the alcohol is slurring her words, her Gotham accent somehow even more prevalent. She stumbles and I smell her perfume as she lurches toward me. Jesus. She's more drunk than I thought.

"Is he?" I murmur, and she laughs, gripping my forearms as I try to keep her upright.

"Just think of all the fun things we could do, huh?" She giggles. "'S fun making him a little jealous."

"Sure," I say, and start to steer her towards Andrew's booth. Now might be a good time to tell him I'm gay. I practically dump her into the seat across from him and wince. "Sorry," I say quietly and move my hands, shoving them into my pockets. He's watching me, eyebrows arched and gaze analytical.

"So. _Five._ Are you enjoying the party so far?" he asks, voice smooth and low. It's a trick question. I down the last of my Manhattan and return his smile, just a little smaller and more subdued.

"So far," I say, letting my eyes skim over the crowd.

"See anybody you like?" he presses.

I meet his gaze. "Not yet," I say.

"How about we find you somebody then?" he says, seemingly satisfied with my answers. He points to a girl doing tricks on a pole. "Her?"

"I-"

"Oh wait! I know. Her," and he gestures at another one with purple hair swallowing fire in a corner to a small crowd. Pretty, both are, but not my type.

"Actually-" and then the doors are blown open and a silence fills the air. Nobody says a word. A couple heavily-armed men stand in the doorway Shit _fuck._ Andrew stands, shoving Anna behind him and pulling his gun. I pull mine as well, and he shoots me a look I can't quite comprehend, but I don't care because there are currently crazy ass peoplein the doorway.

I make the mistake of looking up. Everyone knows there's a private dining area above the club, looking over all of us. Penguin's _there_ , leaning over the railing. What the fuck?

"Are you _serious_?" I hiss.

I hear Andrew yell, "Hey!" and that's when all hell breaks loose. People start screaming, bullets fly as I run for the stairs. _Fuck._ I've got to get to Penguin before something happens. They're either here for Penguin or Andrew, or maybe Barbara and her girlfriend Tabitha, but I've got to eliminate the first option.

I see Penguin's purple waistcoat and tie and dart towards him. I shove panicked people out of the way, ducking as I hear gunshots. The GCPD has just shown up, by the shouts, and I grab his arm, spinning him to face me. His eyes are wide, but not with fear- no, this is adrenaline. He's not scared at all.

"What are you _doing_?" I demand, my mouth getting the better of me. I tighten my grip on his arm and pull him towards the stairs.

"Excuse me?" he says, voice incredulous and I turn, probably glaring but I don't care.

"What do you thinkI'm _talking_ about? I thought you were going to be fine at home!" _Home? Are you a child?_ I grit my teeth. 

"You are certainly not my babysitter," he spits out and tugs at his arm. I don't let go though, and yank him down as a bullet shatters a window above our heads.

"You're right. I'm not. But it is my _job_ to _protect_ you." I pull him down the stairs and we're almost at the back exit when a body goes flying into the door and I wince. I make the decision to tug him through the kitchen to the alleyway. We're almost at the doors when I whirl again. "Now, I'm about to steal a car. We're going home, and you're going to tell me what you thought you would be accomplishing leaving without some sort of detail with you." Penguin's eyes are wide. I know the feeling, pal. I don't snap often, but when I do, it's not pretty. If there's one thing I can't stand, it's impulsivity. I know what you're thinking- _you don't like impulsivity but you're obviously impulsive? Hypocrite._ And maybe you're right. Hey, I can be irritated by myself too.

I quickly hotwire an nearby Toyota and pull it over. "Get in," I say tersely. He does, choosing the shotgun seat. I drive like a madman, leaving Penguin in the front yard of the manor before ditching the car in a nearby park.

When I get back, he's still there, and we go into the house. We don't speak to each other, going in our separate directions to our separate rooms.

My last thought as I fall asleep is _what am I going to do with this man?_


	6. Look What You Made Me Do

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Raindrops on roses and whiskers on kittens...

**POV Five Jackson**   
  
  


The next morning, I wake up earlier than usual. There's a weird noise coming from the window. I open it slowly, not wanting it to creak loudly (as it sometimes does) and wake anyone else.

Perched on my windowsill, two stories up, is a ragged ball of fur. It's a kitten. Are you serious.

It's got bright green eyes _that remind you just a little of Penguin's- **stop-** _and orange fur, and it looks like it wants to raise some hell. I grin and let it sniff at my hand.

"Come on, baby," I say softly, and it lets me pick it up. A quick check confirms- it's a boy, and I grin. "We're gonna need a name for you," I tell him. "Don't worry, we'll figure it out." The cat meows up at me and I scratch behind his ears.

I don't want to wake anyone, as it's still early, dawn is only just breaking. So the kitten (who has crawled up to sit on my shoulder, adorable) and I walk through the hallways, watching the sun rise. At some point the little furball falls asleep and I have to catch him before he slides off my shoulder.

I head back to my room. I should get dressed. It's a Saturday, so we don't have to be anywhere. I slip on my standard black jeans, boots, and I'm about to go looking for a shirt until the kitten meows on the bed. Well, now I have to pet him, so I walk to the bed and sit down, letting the little thing crawl into my lap. I pet him and he starts purring loudly. I talk to him softly, just little things, what it's like outside, the friends I used to have. When he gets antsy I pick him up and let him look out of the windows. I don't even notice the sounds of Penguin and Nygma moving around our floor until I hear Penguin's tiny laugh from the open doorway.

I turn and put down the cat, who meows indignantly and walks over to Penguin, sniffing his bad leg. He meows up at Penguin and rubs up against it.

"Attention hog,"I mumble and Penguin smiles down at the little orange cat.

"Where'd you find him?" he asks.

"Outside my window," I say, and smile, calling him over. "He doesn't have a name yet."

"It's a second story window," he says.

"I know," I look up from petting the kitten. "How did you get up there, little guy?" I ask, and he meows at me, almost as if to say _none of your damn business._ I laugh, and then I realize- I'm not wearing a shirt. Oops. I shoot Penguin an apologetic look and circle to the other side of the bed to grab a spare shirt. It's my one of my favorites, a darker purple plain one. I pick up the cat from where he's meowing at Penguin and hoist him onto my shoulder. I look expectantly at the other man.

_His eyes are pretty up close._

"So?" I say, and I notice him taking in my shirt- oh. I almost laugh. Purple's _his_ color. I feel the kitten rubbing its tiny face in my hair.

"Breakfast," Penguin says, completing my thought.

"Yes," I say, rubbing at my hair to try and get it to look somewhat presentable. He calls over his shoulder as I let him go ahead of me, that Olga's sick, so we'll have to figure something out.

I grin. I have an idea.

"Don't worry, sir, I've got it," I say, and as he turns to face me I put the kitten in his arms. "Mind watching him?" I ask, walking towards the kitchen. He looks surprised but I hide my smile and point to his chair. "Sit." I duck into the kitchen and start digging through the fridge. I hum under my breath as I locate all the ingredients for pancakes.

"Should I be worried?" He calls. I laugh loudly.

"Come on, sir, nobody trusts me with anything." 

"I wonder why," I hear, and start laughing again.

I hear Nygma's footsteps, and they're talking. I shrug.

"Blueberries," I grin as I take the carton out of the fridge. "This is gonna be good." My humming escalates into quiet singing, which just gets louder. I mean, I know my voice is okay, and the chances of them hearing are slim. I crack two eggs and add some flour and milk.

"Center of attention, you know you can get whatever you want from me. Whenever you want it, baby,"I sing, mixing the batter together. "Okay, blueberries." I mumble, reaching for the carton and adding a liberal amount of the fruit to the mixture.

"It's you in my reflection, now I'm afraid of all the things it could do to me, if I would've known it, baby," I continue, turning a burner on the stove on high and pulling a pan from a cupboard beneath the stove. I hum the verse and go back into the chorus.

"I should have stayed at home, cause I was doing better alone. But when you said hello, I knew it was the end of it all," I sing, lowering the pitch so I can reach the high notes. This entire time, I've been pouring batter into the pan, flipping the pancakes I've made so far. I put down the bowl and pan for a moment to get out two plates and two mugs for coffee.

I see an orange thing streak past me, meowing. "Hello, darling," I say, picking up the cat and letting him climb onto my shoulders. "You really shouldn't be in here," I tell him and he just digs his claws into my shoulder. "Ow, I get it," I exclaim, and he starts purring. This cat is a jerk.

I pick up the two plates I've put pancakes on ("No, cat, you can't eat pancakes, what are you _doing-_ ") and take them out to the dining room. Penguin is reading the newspaper and he looks up as I finish the song with the cat on my shoulder. Nygma is drumming his fingertips on the table and watching me curiously. 

"Oh, wait a sec," I say, putting the cat on the floor to go make them coffee. I come back with two mugs and place one in front of Penguin, one in front of Nygma. I don't drink it unless I'm doing a job at three in the morning. It's alcohol for me. My liver's going to fail at some point. 

I sit down and pick up my fork. I'm halfway through my first pancake (I'm a fast eater) before I notice Penguin's watching me again. His eyes are alight with something I can't necessarily place. I can't place a lot of this man, but I know I'd place _myself_ in front of a bullet if he asked me to. Like I said, I've got a debt to pay.

His expression looks a lot like wonder.

I clear my throat a few minutes later. "I thought of a name," I say, gesturing to the cat sitting by Penguin's chair.

He just looks at me expectantly, then looks down and pets the kitten's head. He makes a soft _mrr_ noise and rubs against his hand. Nygma's trying to hide a smile.

"Yeah," I swallow, not knowing if this is the right thing to say. "I think I'm going to call him Oswald."


	7. So It Goes…

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Why are you mad at me?" 
> 
> "I'm not mad at all."

**POV Five Jackson**   
  


Let's make one thing clear- I don't like this Edward guy. I think I've made that pretty obvious. He killed my sister and that alone is enough for me to want to never see him again.

It's bad enough that I can't make him pay because he's Oswald's friend. He goes to visit him in Arkham, for Christ's sake. But he has to _stay_ here? All the time? Where there will probably be some sort of altercation or confrontation if I don't do my best to hold back? This spells disaster.

Ozzie is quite clingy after Butch. I apologize to him and we go upstairs to my room. He's underfoot a lot and when we reach the bed, he curls up as the little spoon when I lie on my side.

"Thanks Ozzie," I say, scratching him behind his ears. We sleep for most of the day, actually, until my phone starts buzzing. It's an unknown number. I pick up anyway, holding my cat close as I sit up on the bed. The setting sun casts an orange light over the room.

"Jackson," I say brusquely.

"Five." it's Oswald. I sit up quickly. "Ed and I will be a little later than expected."

"Alright," I say. "Gotcha, boss. You need backup or something?"

"I don't think so. Campaign party and that. Butch is here."

"Sounds good, boss." I say agreeably. Butch. I don't trust him. He hangs up.

About thirty minutes later, the car pulls up in front of the house, and I leave Ozzie sleeping on the bed to go downstairs and open the door. I move aside to let Oswald and Ed through. They're talking animatedly, and I slip away. I'm tired.

I go back up to my room and take a switchblade from my boot and get the dirt out from under my fingernails. I hum lowly under my breath, a song I used to know well. I'm trying to distract myself from Edward, and pressing the blade into his throat. He's just downstairs. I could do it. But I force myself to keep it together. So it goes. I guess.

_The summer is here at last, the sky is overcast, and no one brings a rose for Emily._

After I've finished, I go downstairs to make sure everything's good and locked up for the night.

"You're _nobody,_ " he says, eyes bright. I meet his gaze. Oswald is saying something about _he's not_ ** _nobody_** _, Ed, be nice,_ but I'm not listening. It's not his fault he ignores the goons. If I were Oswald's right hand man I'd ignore me too. Blood roars in my ears. I struggle to stay calm. I'm doing this for Oswald. I won't kill him in this sitting room because _Oswald wouldn't want me to._

"I am," I say, but make no move to introduce myself fully. I know he probably knows my name from Oswald but I don't care about pleasantries. Speaking of him, he looks over at both of us, eyes questioning.

"It's fine," I say. "Just tired. I get touchy when I'm tired." That's a lie. The first one I've told him. I don't want to lie- it's just that I don't want to ruin a good thing for him.

"Ah," he says, settling back into his seat. He and Ed talk as I tune it out, leaning against the wall. 

"You should get some sleep," Oswald says to Edward, who nods, getting up and bidding Oswald goodnight. He slips past me, going upstairs. I turn to follow, go to my room, but Oswald grips my upper forearm. He gives me a hard look. Shit. I did not do as good a job as I thought of concealing my feelings regarding his friend. "What's with you?" he says.

"Nothing," I say, looking him dead in the eye. I'm a good liar. His brow furrows with disbelief so obviously I'm not as good as I'd like to believe.

"You're lying. What is your issue with Ed?" 

"It's in the past," I say, and it hurts because it hasn't even been that long since Kristen died. The past, my fucking foot. I can't say anything to his face.

"I don't want trouble."

"You won't get any," I concede, and let him past me. Ed is nowhere to be seen, I'm assuming he's in one of the guest bedrooms upstairs. I don't even care at this point. I go upstairs as well, telling Oswald to go to bed.

Speaking of Oswald, _Ozzie,_ where is my _cat_? He's not in my room, so I start going around the upstairs to look. About three rooms down, I hear a meow, and I make a beeline in the direction it came from.

_Are you fucking kidding me._

My cat is rubbing up against Edward's shins, meowing up at him and demanding attention. He's petting Ozzie's head, looking down and smiling widely at the orange fluffball. _He's pretty when he smiles._ Stop. Stop immediately. 

I lean against the doorframe until he notices me there. Ozzie is purring, sounding like a old, loud lawn mower. He sees me and meows at me.

"Yeah, I finally found you, Ozzie, ya little traitor," I say, leaning down and delibrately avoiding Ed's eyes. I reach out and scratch Ozzie behind his ears "C'mere, we gotta go to bed." He meows at me, green eyes big and bright. "Mhm," I say. "I love you too." I plant a kiss on his tiny forehead and look over at Ed, who's watching this, face blank. "Sorry," I say, voice sardonic. I know I'm being an asshole. No part of me cares.

"Why are you mad at me?" he asks. He sounds tired.

"What are you talking about?" I say, putting on a fake innocent face. "I'm not mad at all."

I want to spit in his face on my way out.

Two nights later Butch, another one of Oswald's goons (who I've never really liked), betrays us and tries to kill Ed at the Iceberg. Before I can step in though, Oswald breaks a bottle on his head before he strangles Edward to death. That's when I can see the devotion to each other crystal clear. It was always obvious with Oswald, but Edward was always more closed off. If he doesn't love Oswald back, at least he knows that the shorter man values him, and that he has a good friend in him. That's really all we can hope for, right?

_"I hope you know, Oswald. I would do anything for you. You can always count on me."_

But then Oswald's expression morphs into one of childlike happiness, _innocence_ even, as he hugs Nygma. His hands grasp at the other man's robe like he's scared this too will be ripped from him. It's a needy, yet gentle gesture that has me looking away. I feel like a peeping Tom- in the wrong place at the wrong time. It should hurt. It really should, it should feel like a stab to the heart. But that pain has taken a back burner because _Oswald is happy,_ and that, in this moment, is what really matters. 

Maybe the reason Oswald is so attached to Edward is because... underneath all of the lust for power and greed and psychopathy, is a real hunger for love, for affection, for safety. I truly do wish I was the one to try to give it to him. I don't think I could do it- but I would sure as hell try.


	8. Gorgeous

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jealousy is a nasty thing.

**POV Five Jackson**

Okay, I don't know what I was thinking either. Was this a mistake? My mind leaps into overdrive, and I struggle to keep eye contact. In the end I drop my eyes and take another bite. Everyone knows his name- and Oswald meows from the floor. 

"Maybe Ozzie for short," I say, and _aw mouth, no, what is wrong with you?_ No brain to mouth filter? _Idiot._

He puts his fork down and I tense. Hopefully it isn't too noticeable. Nygma keeps his mouth shut for once.

"Why are you doing this?"

Not what I expected. "Doing what?" I ask. I _think_ know what he's talking about but I'm confused- does he think- I don't even know what he thinks this is. Nobody but, well, _Nygma_ has ever showed this man kindness and you can sue me for being another person who wants to do so. To show him that people can be nice without wanting something in return. That's it.

"This," he gestures to the table. "What are you trying to do?"

There's enough food on my plate for one last bite, so I take it before I answer.

"What makes you think I'm doing something?" I question, standing and collecting our plates. "I can't be nice just to be a good person about it?"

"Comes with a price attached," he says, quieter. Nygma looks over at him, concerned.

"Mine doesn't," I say, voice steady. "Mine doesn't, and his doesn't either." I'm referring to Nygma, who's left the dining room in the time I was in the kitchen.

"I'm not dumb," I say, shrugging and raising my voice as I deposit the dishes in the sink in the kitchen. I walk back out to the dining room and pick up Ozzie from the floor. 

I mean, it _is_ pretty obvious. Penguin is not good at this "hiding your feelings" thing. I'm better, and I know, cause I'm doing it right now. I'm not happy about it. Can't say anything to his face. I might have feelings for the guy but he's in love with the man who killed my older sister. I don't trust Oswald much, so I certainly don't trust Nygma. At all. But it's kind of nice- when they're together it's like Oswald's pieces fall into place. They really are friends. They really do understand each other. Much to my chagrin.

"You-"

"I mean, it's not surprising," I say. "You don't become a mobster with a perfect family life, sir. Nygma-" 

"You can say Edward-"

"I find that people don't like me using their real names unless they tell me I can. I called my father sir for years." I say. "Unless he tells me I can call him that, it's Nygma to me."

Penguin looks up at me. "You can call me Oswald," he says, quieter.

"Thank you," and I have to stop myself from adding "sir" at the end. 

"He's your friend. You probably never had a friend before. He's the only member in the-" I have to pause- "'Oswald Deserves Someone To Be Nice To Him' club. Or he was, because now I'm joining, and you're just going to have to live with it." _He could be nice to Oswald, but not to Kristen. Who arguably deserved it._ I need to stop with that train of thought.

"Wow," he says quietly. "That's the most I've ever heard you talk."I shrug, petting Ozzie's head. 

"Thank you," he says. 

"It's confusing whether you've been in love before or not," I say, sitting back down. There. It's out. He knows that I know now.

He gapes, then gathers himself. "And you know what that's like."

"No," I say. "I guess I never really thought about it. Or had that chance. But it makes sense."

"It's only really worth it if it's reciprocated," he says quietly.

"Maybe," I shrug. "Or it could be put to better use."

"Like what?" he asks incredulously. "For some, love is a source of strength, but for people like me, it will always be my greatest weakness." 

"The idea isn't to be impervious to everything," I say quietly. "People will hurt you. People will say and do the worst things. But you have to open up enough to enjoy the good things people can give you."

Oswald looks up. I meet his gaze. He clears his throat. It's obvious the conversation is over.

"Edward and I have been talking," he says, changing the subject, and I nod.

"What about?"

"I'm going to run for mayor," he grins wickedly. "With what I did about Hugo Strange's monsters? People loved that."

"They do," I say. 

"I can use that. Get me into office like that."

"True."

"So when are you going to announce it?" I ask.

"I think today," he says. "I have a plan."

"Sounds good. I'm coming with?" 

"Stay inconspicuous," he instructs. I nod.

"Cool." I say as I walk over to Ozzie on the floor in the doorway. "I'll find something to do until then."

"Five," he says, and I turn, the cat in my arms, who is rubbing his tiny head in my hair again. "Don't get yourself involved with Andrew or Annalise. They always turn on their friends." I'm surprised he knows them- but of course he does. It's his job to know everyone and everything so they can't threaten him. 

And with that, he sweeps past me and is halfway up the stairs.

I rearrange my hair and put Ozzie down. "I guess that's that," I say to him, and he meows at me like he understands. There's a knock at the door. I frown and cross the foyer. My hand drifts to the knife tucked into my waistband as I open it.

It's Andrew. Speak of the devil. He's holding a gun and his face is fixed in a (quite frankly, terrifying) broad smile.

"Five! Just the man I wanted to see."

"Hey," I say, forcing a smile in return. "What, uh... what brings you here?" And of course he's not alone- there's four big guys behind him, with various weapons. His smile somehow gets bigger.

"About last night," he starts, using the barrel of the gun to tilt my chin up. "Annie's taken a liking to you, although to be honest, I have yet to see why. I just want to make sure we're on the same page about this."

What- _oh._ He thinks I tried to hit on her. I almost laugh from the absurdity of this. I guess my amusement must have slipped onto my face, ( _plus that he doesn't know_ ) because his smile disappears and he kicks my legs out from under me. I hit the ground hard, wincing as my knees slam into the wood. 

"You think this is _funny_?" he growls, holding the gun level with my forehead.

"No," I say slowly, trying to stop the stutter trying to work its way into my words.

"So tell me. What did you _think_ of my Anna at that club?" he hisses, and I close my eyes for a second, trying to stop the fear from showing in my face. I can tell him I'm gay, but would he believe it? Would he shoot me anyway? I hear Ozzie meow but it sounds far away and it takes everything to open my eyes again.

"She looked nice?" I swallow hard and answer. It sounds more like a question. His eyes are bright on mine.

" _Nice,_ " he emphasizes.

"You're lucky," I say, and _what are you trying to pull? You're getting yourself in even more trouble!_

"I am," he says. "Now I'm gonna ask, and you're gonna answer, and I'll know if you lie to me. Did you want her?"

I knew this was coming but I didn't expect this expression, this rage on the cusp of boiling over and scalding me. I didn't expect to be speechless. What can I say- I can't always be brave.

"Did you _want_ her!" his voice gets louder. I'm free-falling now, the tone is close, too close to _him_ and it's not Andrew with a gun standing over me now. It's my father with a broken beer bottle. I'm frozen. He says something else but it's white noise and I'm pretty sure I'm hyperventilating.

"Hey!"

 _Oswald._ I exhale. It's fine. He's here, it's okay. The panic still sits, deep in my bones, but at least I'm not about to lose it. I take a shaky breath in.

"What are you _doing_?" he demands, and by his steps, he's moving down those steps faster than I've ever witnessed. His hands are on my forearms then, and I open my eyes, meeting his green ones. He pulls me to my feet (or does what he can to help me) and I turn to face Andrew. Hell, even he knows better than to fuck with the Penguin. Nygma is down here now, too, gun pointed at Andrew. Expression hard, but giving nothing away.

"Andrew," I say, feeling Oswald's fingers tighten around my wrist. I swallow. He looks bewildered. I force the words out. Somehow now it's no longer about Andrew and him pulling the trigger on me, it's more about Oswald and his reaction to what I'm saying.

"I'm gay."

Andrew and his goons leave without a word. I guess I'm not dying today. Oswald asks if I'm alright- a lot. I shake him off after awhile and he gives me a worried look, but fixes his collar and signals for his driver. He and Nygma are going somewhere.


	9. Getaway Car

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You're quite the mystery, Jackson.

**POV Five Jackson**   
  


The next two days are... eventful. Oswald has a few meetings, so I accompany him to them. But most of the time, he's holed up in his study with Nygma, who watches me when he thinks I'm not looking. _You are not discreet._ Ozzie and I spend a lot of time reading, walking around the house, and wondering _what the fuck is going on._

And then I find out from a stolen snippet of their conversation- "Make Gotham safe again" is a decent enough tagline for Oswald's mayoral campaign. Of course this means he'll be even more of a target. Being the mayor of the most crime-riddled city in the country will do that to a guy. I'll certainly have my work cut out for me. But right now, he's safe, which is what matters.

Am I sure he'll be mayor? Yeah. It's him vs. Aubrey James and James is a useless sack of shit. Come on. We all know he'll win.

They're busy, so I put Ozzie in my room and leave the house. I don't go into the city, instead, I go to the docks nearest to the house. The dock's got a pier just above it- there's a reason nobody but boaters come to the lower docks, it's grimy and darker down here. But what I'm here for are the pillars. There are wooden pillars that hold up both the upper piers and lower docks. They're sturdy,and I take one of my knives out of my boot and stand in a corner of the wooden platform. I adjust my stance and throw the knife diagonally across the dock. It lands with a solid _thud_ into the wood, lodging in and sticking hard. I grin. If I'd been angled incorrectly, the knife would have gone sailing into the water behind the pillar, to the side of the dock. But I was head-on, just like usual.

I go over and pull the knife from the wood, and return to my original place. I throw it again and again. Then I decide to up the ante- I ruck up my shirt and pull another knife from my waistband and throw two at the same time. They both land, one directly across from the other in the wood. The tension leaves my shoulders as I continue.

And I'm so involved in it that I don't notice someone else's eyes on me.

It's Nygma. _Edward._

I turn. His hair had been cut to be short on the sides and longer in the front a few days ago, replacing what had previously looked like a mop on his head from lack of haircuts at Arkham. His outfit had been changed too- a dark green, almost black suit that sure as hell wouldn't suit anyone else. I almost grimace at the thought of me in green. With my hair I'd look like a deranged leprechaun.

"What do you want?" I ask, going to pull the knives out of the wood. Impolite? Yeah. Tell me what he's done to earn my respect, and by association, politeness.

"Why are you so mad at me?" he asks.

I walk back, putting one knife into my boot and twirling the other between my fingers. I'm close enough to see the color of his eyes, our chests practically pressed together. I raise the knife slowly, giving him the opportunity to move, but he doesn't. I press it lightly into his throat, grinning widely up at him. I hate that he's just taller than me.

"Why I'm mad at you, huh?" I hum, voice low. I press the blade down just a little harder. "Tell me. Do you remember..." I pretend to think. "Who was the first person you killed?" I honestly don't care. I just want to have him struggle before I lose it and slit his throat where he stands.

"Tom Dougherty." he says, voice flat.

"Hm," I draw out the syllable, looking at the knife. I don't know the name and I don't are.

"And how did you kill him?" I say.

"I stabbed him."

"And why?"

"Who are you?" he spits, pushing me off, eyes gone wild. "Why do you _care_?"

"Oh, come off it," I roll my eyes, regaining my footing. I do like the little white line on his throat from the blade. It's fading fast. Wish I could get a picture of it. "I don't care. Tom What's-his-face doesn't matter to me. What does matter is this." I take another step back towards him. He's shaking with anger.

" _Kristen Kringle,_ " I bare my teeth. He makes a soft sounds like someone knocked the wind out of him. "Do you remember her? Do you remember carrying her body to the GCPD, Nygma? _Do you?_ "

"How-" but I cut him off.

"Kristen was my sister." I hiss. "And you, you _murderer,_ you killed her."

It's out now. He answers wrong and I take the knife and end this right now.

"Your sister?" He whispers. His eyes are wide with shock and disbelief.

"My sister." I growl. "What did she ever do to you, you sicko?" I demand. "She was a _saint_ and was trying to live her life away from our father- our abusive, maniac father- and you just took it away!"

"Don't say that." His eyes are closed, jaw tight.

"I'll say what I want!" My voice sounds shrill but I cannot be bothered by it.

"Stop!" His eyes fly open, fists clenched.

"No!" I shout. "You're a monster. You're a psychopath!" The words fly out of my mouth. I know I'm in no position to call someone a psycho, I work for one. It's just entirely too much for him to be standing in front of me and for me _not_ to do something.

He grabs my shoulder, turning and slamming me against the brick wall behind him. He's pressed against me, eyes alight with rage. He's got one hand around my throat and reaches for my mouth. _If she was just another victim, why is he acting this way?_

"Freak," I spit. His eyes are dark and his mouth is twisted into a grimace. Well, if this is how I'm going, I'm going out swinging. Just before his hand latches over my mouth, I notice something. He's pressed up against me, yes, but he's _hard. What the fuck._

"You don't understand," he growls. "I loved her. I never intended to hurt her. You know _nothing_."

I can't focus on his words for long- my vision is blurring. Just as blackness invades the edges of my sight, he lets me go. I must have made some noise or something. I cough, hard as he backs up, eyes wide and hands out in front of him.

"Jesus fuck," I cough again, looking up at him with watery eyes. I look at him- his pants are slightly tented and the dark look in his eyes is gone. "This how you get off? _Fuck_ ," I rasp, bringing a hand to my throat.

"What? N-no, I-" He closes his eyes, shuddering, and when he opens them again the dark look is back. He comes slowly towards me and for the first time in a long time I'm frozen, rooted to the wood of the dock. "Poor Eddie. You really did a number on him." his voice is deeper, lower, and it's almost a purr, smooth and dark. My stomach twists with unwanted arousal at the predatory look in his eye.

"I don't care," I say defiantly, hoping it comes out less shaky than I think it sounds. Oh, I'm

"Mmm," he says, and that's when it clicks. That was Edward Nygma on the dock five minutes ago, and now it's someone else. I'd heard rumors about his split personality but it fully sinks in now. None of those people were lying. They said this guy pushed Edward to kill. So was he fully responsible for Kristen?

 _Of course he is!_ The rational part of my brain rages. _Personality or not. It was him._

I steel my resolve as he stalks toward me again. I cannot give him what he wants. I cannot give him a reaction. My head is spinning. I can barely get a grip on myself.

"Did you know, little boy," I bite my tongue to prevent myself from lashing out at the patronizing nickname. He's close, gloved fingers lifting my chin and forcing me to look at him. "That our Edward killed Tom Dougherty to _protect_ Miss Kristen Kringle? That Officer Dougherty was abusing her, and that he _deserved every one of the stab wounds we gave him_?"

"He killed her," I growl.

"He told her he'd killed Dougherty. She called him names, the same ones you did, as I recall," he says and I desperately want to punch his cocky fucking lights out, but I need to hear the full story.

"He tried to tell her he loved her, _'Kristen, that's not who I am, that's not me',_ all that feel-good shit. Ended up killing her in his attempt to stop her leaving and shut her up long enough to listen." Nygma- or whoever he is, now, shakes his head. "That's when he let me take over for once. I was the one who took her to the GCPD."

"That doesn't make it right," I spit, pushing him away, trying to save face.

"You think he doesn't know that?" he snaps. "You think he doesn't hate himself for what he did?"

"I don't care how much he hates himself. He did it and that's all that matters," I retort. I walk to the other end of the dock. "How did I even get here?" I whisper. I don't stand a chance against him. I don't have a shotgun shot in the dark here, if he wants to kill me, decides to kill me, he'll do it and I'll be dead.

"Okay, then answer me this," I say, cutting myself off and whirling around. "Why are you _hard_ right now?" I gesture to him. He doesn't even try to hide it, completely unabashed.

"The subject matter isn't appealing," he shrugs. "But you're quite the mystery, Jackson. And believe me, both Eddie and I are very interested in taking you apart and seeing exactly what makes you tick."

Nygma leaves soon after. I sit on the edge of the dock until it gets dark.

_But you're quite the mystery, Jackson. And believe me, both Eddie and I are very interested in taking you apart and seeing exactly what makes you tick._

I don't even know what that was. Some sort of sick sexual tension had filled the spaces between us, and the words _taking you apart_ caused all sorts of depraved mental images to invade my head. What did that even mean? And _both Eddie and I_? Was... did Nygma want- what _did_ Nygma want? I got almost nothing out of him before Riddler took over. He was in love with Kristen and, according to the other guy, accidentally killed her. What advantage would either of them have by lying to me?

Oswald comes looking for me just then.

"Five?"

"Down here," I call, and I sound resigned, and angry, and sad. And I... I guess I am. Hearing the truth of Kristen's death shook me to say the least. I'm still angry- I don't think that anger will ever fully leave. But mostly I'm shocked and numb.

"Edward came home about an hour ago, he said you were down here." _Ed's a liar._ But I stand up, remembering my job. The way down to this pier is slippery stone steps. I've got decent boots and two working legs. He does not. I stand and take the steps to stand in front of him.

"Yeah," I say unhelpfully. My smile feels forced. Probably looks it, too.

"Five," he says, tone leaving no room for interpretation or deviation, "When we get back, I'm sitting you and Edward down and you will _explain to me_ what is going on with you two."

"Yes sir."


	10. King of My Heart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> First dates and the warning signs she completely ignored.

**POV Five Jackson**   
  
  


Well, Oswald won the election. Didn't I tell you? Butch almost killed him at the celebration party at The Sirens. As it turns out, he was leading the Red Hood Gang, a copycat gang of the Red Hood Gang from a couple years ago. They had come up and knocked the head off of the statue of Oswald's mother that he'd had made. I'd tried to stop them, but with cameras involved I couldn't pull my gun and shoot any of them. Oswald was _livid._ Butch wore the Red Hood and shot the mayor, except it was loaded with blanks, and Edward unmasked him, exposing him to the crowd.

And about a week later, Edward gets a girlfriend.

I know this because (he won't shut up about her, and it makes _Oswald_ upset so _I_ get upset) he's incredibly late to a dinner he and Oswald were supposed to have. Like- twelve hours late. I can only keep Oswald calm for so long, and he almost calls the police to put out a missing person search on Edward. Except then the man himself comes into the room and Oswald throws himself at him and wraps him in a tight hug. I step back, wishing I had the ability to camouflage into the walls so I don't ruin the moment. 

As I sneak by and leave the room, I hear Edward say, "I met someone." and his little laugh, and- "I think I'm in love!" 

That's my cue to leave. 

Apparently he met this girl, this _Isabella_ at the liquor store where he was going to buy wine for the dinner. She looks like a dead-ringer for Kristen, apparently, just with blonde hair and no glasses, and barely a different style. It feels a bit like an insult. Like he's trying to replace her. But he says it's the universe's way of giving him a second shot at love (I doubt it). 

The next day, Oswald has to go to this fancy dinner, and I'm watching as a really happy Edward compares ties. 

"You are going to cut quite the fine figure at the Founders' dinner tonight," he says. Oswald watches him in the mirror.

"Did you know that this dinner has been thrown annually for over 200 years? It was started by the first families of Gotham. Only the most powerful citizens are invited," he replies. He looks back at Edward. "It's a shame I don't have a plus one." 

"I can't go anyway. I have a date," Edward says happily. 

"With the woman you claim to be in love with after only knowing for a few hours?" Oswald asks incredulously. 

"Heart keeps its own time," he replies. "I'm partial to the purple." He holds up a tie.

"The brocade brings out my eyes," Oswald agrees. "Are you sure you aren't mistaking infatuation for love? You did say she is the spitting image of Kringle." He risks a look at me. I shrug, expression impassive.

"Isabella's beautiful and smart. So, she bears a passing resemblance to Kristen. It's just the universe telling me..." Ed pauses wistfully. "Telling me I have a second chance at love."

I want to snort. I want to break out in laughter so badly. A _second chance at love._ Wow. No, it's the universe telling you to let this girl live her damn life without you butting in and probably killing her in the end. I don't laugh.

"Where did you say she works?" Oswald asks.

"The Main Public Library." Edward ties Oswald's tie and steps back. "You're right about the brocade." he pauses. "Do you mind if I skedaddle? I just need to pick up a few things for tonight." Oh, right. They're doing this _here._ Wow.

"Who am I to stand in the way of love?" Oswald asks. Edward beams and leaves the room quickly

Oswald shoots me a look that I've come to learn means _we need to talk_ , and I push off the wall and walk over. 

"I'm going to talk to her," he says.

"You what?" I exclaim. 

"Shh!" he hisses, even though no one else is in the room. "Yes. I'm going to see her. She works at the library." 

"Oh my god," I murmur. "You're going to tell her about Edward. That he was in Arkham. That he killed Kristen." I pause. "This won't fix anything," I say quickly. "If he finds out this was your doing, _our_ doing, he'll hate you. He will never forgive you." He's not- he can't be _thinking_ straight. 

"She deserves to know," he says, chin lifted indignantly. 

"You aren't doing this for _her_!" I protest.

"Don't you want her to know? Before Ed kills her too? She looks just like Kringle. He wouldn't be able to help it."

"But he wouldn't kill _you_?" I snap, and it's a low blow. I know it as soon as it comes out of my mouth.

He doesn't say anything, and sweeps out the door. I sigh and go with him. 

"Fine," I say. "Fine. Whatever you want. Whatever you think is best." 

We pull up to the library soon enough. Oswald opens the door. 

"Hello there," he smiles at the woman behind the desk. Oh my god.

Edward was right. She looks exactly like my sister. Her blonde, almost white hair is piled up on her head, her lips painted red. Different styles, of course. They're completely different and yet exactly the same. The air is stolen from my lungs. 

"Mr. Mayor. What an honor. How can I help you?" she asks breathily, eyes wide with surprise. I close the door behind him.

"I am attending the Founders' dinner this evening, and I wanted to brush upon the history of Gotham's first families," Oswald lies. 

"Hmm," she hums, and I can practically hear the cogs in her head whirring. 

"My Chief of Staff suggested I come here. I think you might know him," he prompts.

"Yes. I know Edward, we just met," and then Isabella, that poor girl, blushes. "But... well, I feel I've known him my whole life." 

"How romantic," Oswald says in an almost deadpan. Thank god she doesn't notice. 

"Oh, listen to me blathering on. You wanted a book?" she asks.

"I'm so glad you appreciate Ed. Really, I should thank you for brightening Ed's spirits. He has been _so_ down since he got out of Arkham," Oswald says. Her face scrunches up in surprise.

"Edward was in Arkham?" she asks.

"You don't know?" Oswald feigns shock. "It was front page news."

"I stick to books," she says apologetically. "Don't people typically go to Arkham for murder?" she whispers. I want to roll my eyes. Tell Oswald to stop being an ass, tell her to run for the hills if she knows what's good for her.

"I make it a policy not to gossip about staff, but..." Oswald pretends to think. "Yes. Uncanny, how much you look like her. It's that swan-like neck." he pauses. "Mmm-hmm. Ed loves a neck!" he laughs. "Well, thank you for the book. It was a pleasure meeting you." 

And he sweeps out of the library, leaving her shocked in his wake. I shoot her an apologetic glance that I'm not even sure she sees, and follow. When we get back home, I lie on my bed with Ozzie and try to think of anything I can do. And I come up with nothing.

Oswald can't take me to the Founder's Dinner, so I'm staying home with Ed and his lady friend. She's supposed to be around at about 8, and when 8 comes, she knocks, right on time. I get to the door first. She does an odd double take at me, although she should have figured out that I'm the mayor's bodyguard and I'm here for a reason.

"Isabella, right?" I feel an odd sort of pity towards her, the desire to be kind to someone you know is fucked. 

"Yes," she says, smiling prettily. She's wearing a pretty black dress under her coat, also black. "And you are?"

"Five," I return her expression. "Jackson. I'm the bodyguard. Edward will be down in a second, do you want a drink or something?" I ask, closing the door behind her and leading her to the dining room. 

"Just water," she says. I come back in the room a moment later with a glass of water and hand it to her. "You look just like her," she murmurs. 

"Pardon?" I ask. I heard it, I just don't know if she means what I think she means. Kristen and I were similar- same red hair (hers was a shade darker), pale skin, brown eyes. She just liked color and fashion and I stuck to black jeans and boots. 

"Nothing," and Isabella has the good sense to look mortified. 

"It's okay, if you're talking about my sister. We were only a few years apart. Her name was Kristen," I say.

"Kristen Kringle," she breathes. "Your sister? But your last name-" 

"Changed it for safety reasons," I shrug, pouring myself a glass of brandy from the bar. "It's fine. I get that a lot. I think it's kind of cool, looking like somebody else." 

"I know the feeling," she whispers, and takes a drink of her water. Edward comes down the stairs and starts at seeing us together. 

"Well, that's my cue to take off. Have a good night," I give her my most charming grin and walk out of the room. 


	11. Dancing With Our Hands Tied

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Whispered apologies and wire cutters.

**POV Five Jackson**   
  
  


The next day, Oswald tells us we're invited to a fancy sort of gala somewhere later that week. I wasn't really paying attention. But while he and Edward hash out the details, I lean back and think of _what on earth do you wear to a gala?_

Just as I'm trying to figure out if I could get away with just pulling the bodyguard card and ditching fancy clothes, Oswald says my name and I perk back up.

"Yeah? What's up?"

"Do you know your sizes? We're going to have to get you a suit." Oswald says. His eyes feel like lasers boring into my skin.

"Aw, really? I thought I could skate by just being the brawn," I groan, tipping my head back against the headrest of the chair.

"Nope," Edward says, looking at me cheerfully. _He's_ in a good mood. Suspicious.

"Alright," I say melodramatically and rattle off my sizes as I remember them. Oswald makes notes and goes into the other room to call a tailor or something. I wasn't paying much attention.

"Does he know?" Edward asks suddenly.

"Know what?" I turn my head to look at him.

"That you like him." I startle, _hard._ Was it this obvious? 

"I don't," I deny, and go back to fucking around with my pocketknife. 

"Yes, you do," he insists. "I can see it."

"He's my best friend. I wish I could have been his." I say. "That's all it is." 

"But you don't want him like a best friend. I know how that feels," he says quietly, and I look at him with disbelief.

"Edward. Do you... you too?" I whisper.

"I don't know!" He says, throwing up his hands. "There's my- maybe it's mine- his- thing for you, and honestly I can see where it's coming from-" he takes a breath as my head spins, what is he-? "And then Oswald and Isabella... I don't even know how to deal with any of this."

"Do you love Isabella?" I ask.

"I think so," he says quietly.

"Oswald?"

"I don't know."

I swallow hard. "Me?" My fingers are digging into the fabric of the armrest.

"I don't know."

I nod. So this got me next to nothing, but at least I'm more clear on where we all stand. Jesus. This love triangle is going to leave us all in a wreck, tangled.

Oswald walks in again and I slump back into the chair.

"So," he says, fidgeting with his fingers. "All we have to do is pick your suit up in about an hour."

"Thanks," I say, smiling up at him. And it's actually sincere. He's done so much for me, and he absolutely didn't have to.

"No problem," he says, looking away. Edward squirms from the awkwardness of the moment. He stands, forcing a smile.

"So when's this thing again?" he asks.

Oswald says, "8 pm, tomorrow." It's about 3 in the afternoon right now, and I stand up, stretching.

"Unless you guys are planning on going anywhere, I'll be off," I say with mock cheerfulness. I've just got to get out of this house.

It has come to a head- not between any of us, but between me and my thoughts. Part of me wants to leave the house and go out and get trashed with people I've never met and will never see again, and that part might just win out. So I drop them off, act like I'm going to bed and change into a tight black t-shirt, my leather jacket and my black jeans (which I know for a fact make my ass look _amazeballs_ ). It's a little early to be heading to a club, so I mix and mill around in Gotham. 

When the sun starts to set, I go to this place downtown I know, a little club filled with all the misfits of Gotham, low-level criminals and drug dealers. The Arcadia. It's not far, so I walk over, the chilly night air biting at my skin. I slip inside, plucking a red solo cup from someone's hand and winking at them before taking a sip. I make my way further in- there are people crammed in everywhere, some Nicki Minaj song is blasting, the bass rattling the cups on the counter. A gaggle of girls are yelling the lyrics incoherently and I laugh. The lights are bright and flashing, and I can make out the figure of a short, stocky black haired guy. Maybe I can pretend it's the mayor of Gotham for the night.

Impulse control? Never heard of her.

I walk up to him and tap him on the shoulder. He turns and shit, if you squint he looks a bit like Oswald from the front too, hazel eyes, black hair spiking up.

"Hey," I purr. "Wanna trade?" I gesture to his drink and hold out mine. He smirks and hands me his cup. I drain it quickly- whiskey. Not a problem. He says his name is Thomas. I grin and don't tell him mine.

Over the next hour we get trashed and handsy. The music is loud and the place is crowded. The DJ, a woman with green hair and black lipstick, slides from one song to another effortlessly. The colored lights cast weird shadows on our faces, and when someone offers me a joint I take it and let the day I've just had slip far behind me. We dance (more like just jumping and shamelessly grinding on our partners) and spill our drinks. When Thomas kisses me his lips are sticky and he tastes like peaches and vodka.

He pushes me up against the alley wall as we walk out, and I let out a little gasp and lean into his kiss. We make it back to his place (I don't even bother remembering his name) and he holds me down and fucks me until I cry. It's good. It's really good. It's got nothing to do with him. It is everything to do with me.

'Cause it's like I said, if you squint he looks a little like Oswald.

A few days later, Oswald comes up to me and says, "We're going to Isabella's." 

"Again?" I say, looking up from my book. 

"Edward wants me to tell her he's breaking up with her." 

I raise my eyebrows. "Why can't he say it himself?"

"He wants us to do it because I'm his best friend, and he's afraid he'll hurt her the way he hurt Kringle." I nod. 

"Yeah, that would concern me, too," I mutter. It _does_ concern me. I get up. "So. Right now?" 

"Yes," he says, and we go outside. "You're driving," he says, and I nod in agreement. I bring a car around, and he rattles off her address. 

We pull up outside. "Alright," I mutter as I get out of the car. I knock and step back. 

"Mayor Cobblepot?" she asks as she opens the door. "Five?" 

"Hello, Isabella. May I?" Oswald inquires.

"Um- of course," she lets us in. It's a cute, little house. The pity I felt for her last night resurfaces.

"Going somewhere?" he asks. 

"Just for a couple of nights. But- I was hoping to talk to Ed before I left. I, um, tried calling him. ls he okay?" she asks. 

Oswald smiles. It's a nasty, patronizing smile. She looks as uncomfortable as I feel. 

"Hmm. Yes. How shall I put this? It's over."

"Excuse me?" 

He is not going to see you anymore. Do not try to contact him. That door is closed." he pauses for effect. "Have a nice life." I mentally cringe. This is not how you do this! Let her down easy, at _least_!

"Oh..." she whispers. "Oh my." 

"It is a shock. But, besides your odd resemblance to his ex, a certain facility with riddles, compulsion for order... what is it that you two really have in common?" he asks bluntly. "Edward is a person of exceptional intelligence and imagination. He deserves to be appreciated by someone on his own level." he stops. "And you, my dear, are simply not. Best to end things now."

I cringe inside again. This is just looking suspicious. He couldn't have told her the real reason why Ed was breaking up with her instead of insulting her?

"You're right," she whispers. What? "I don't deserve him." She cannot be this gullible. 

"Glad we agree. Bye," Oswald says roughly, turning on his heel. She stops him with her next words.

"But I'm not gonna let him go." Oswald turns back, shocked. "He loves me, and I love him. Do you know how rare that is, Mr. Mayor?" she examines him closely. 

"Of course you do. Because you love him, too. I can see it." she laughs breathlessly. "I'm not even jealous.  
  
"I don't think that you understand..." he starts.

"It was my glasses this morning. They reminded him of Miss Kringle.He's afraid he's going to hurt me like he hurt her." she says, finally putting the fucking pieces together.  
  
"Listen to me, you little idiot," Oswald snarls and I wince. "I am telling you one last time. Let Ed go."  
  
"No." she says, breaking out in a smile. "I will write to him. I will make him understand that he has nothing to fear. I'm not gonna let him go."  
  
"Very well." Oswald says, voice disdainful. "Don't say I didn't warn you." 

When we get home, Oswald goes off to brood in his study. I go to my room and sit with Ozzie, willing my anxiety to dissipate from where it sits in the pit of my stomach. I hear the door closing- Edward, coming back from meeting with Isabella. He'd called to tell us. 

I already know what happened, of course. It doesn't take a fucking genius. She convinced him to stay. He's not going to leave her. Of course not. I walk silently down the stairs and listen to Oswald greeting him. I want to know how he'll play this. 

"How'd she take it?" I hear him ask.

"What? Oh. Uh..." Ed laughs a little. "Everything is wonderful. Isabella showed me that, uh, I was worried over nothing."   
  
"I'm so happy for you- but why are you back?" Oswald asks.  
  
"Well, she had to go to her conference. I insisted."

"You're a good man. But you look done in. I will hear all about it tomorrow. Get some sleep." I press myself against the wall as Edward brushes past me on his way upstairs, grinning the whole time. 

"You can come out now," Oswald says. Of course he knew I was there. His voice is low but I have no trouble hearing him. "Got to give her credit." He's sitting in an armchair by the fire. "She fought for him. Too bad she underestimated her opponent." 

I move my hands in a helpless gesture, feeling sick to my stomach. "Oswald. You can't be thinking..." I trail off. Oswald has always been irrational, listening to his heart instead of his head. And when that's mixed with the pure power he has-

"I need you to do something for me," he says, eyes narrowed with anger.

Yeah. _This_ happens. 

"I-" I start, but he cuts me off. 

"'You?' What about poor Ed? He will be heartbroken." And then he smiles, wide. "Luckily, he has a shoulder to cry on."

"You," I whisper. I take a breath. _Get it together, Jackson._ "So what am I doing?" 

"Do you own a pair of wire cutters?" 

"I can get one." I say, uneasily knowing where this is going. 

"Cut her brake lines. I don't want her to even get out of Gotham." 

"Sir." I say, and leave the room. I find wire cutters in my bag, pull on my boots and go outside. I walk to Isabella's- her car is in the driveway and the lights are out. I do it quickly, wincing at the _snap_ of the wire being cut. 

On the way back I throw the cutters into the river. 

Two days later Edward finds out about Isabella. I guess she finally used her car. I feel guilty- but orders were orders. I had a job to do. 

_I'm sorry._

I don't even know if I want to apologize to Ed. When I go to bed the night he finds out, I whisper my apologies to Isabella, rest her soul, and hope that whatever higher power is up there doesn't think too badly of me for what I did.

I desperately want to say something to Ed, of course, even if it's just condolences. But I stick to the shadows as Edward hugs Oswald at the GCPD. The shorter man is lit up with happiness. I feel sick to my stomach.

I stick to the shadows as he mourns for days.

I don't say a word.

Edward looks cold when he finally gets over Isabella's death enough to get back to work. He looks angry, yes. Sad? Of course. And I notice that it is pure determination driving him now as Oswald's chief of staff. He wants to find Isabella's killer. He's unlikely to discover the truth, but what if someone knows something we don't?

What if someone gives us away?


	12. Dress

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fancy dresses and insanity only drive everyone further to their breaking points.

**POV Five Jackson**   
  
  


The next night at the gala is... _eventful_ to say the least. Nygma doesn't go (still mourning over Isabella, and he claims to not be feeling well), which makes it a little awkward. Though I can't think why. When we finally get there (it takes forever, and I'm at least 90% sure the driver got lost at one point), I take consolation in that at least I can look at the dresses people are wearing. Yes, I'm totally gay. Dresses have always had my heart, and I enjoy critiquing fashion design in my head.

Speaking of fashion, the suit, the _tuxedo_ I'm wearingis tight fitting, accentuating what are probably my best physical features, my slight shoulders and slim waist. Maybe my ass. But it's simple, because my job is to blend in and take down anybody who wants to hurt my boss.

My boss. That's right. And I'm going to try to refer to Oswald, both out loud and in my head as either Penguin, boss or sir, because I can't distance myself from him if I'm calling him _Oswald._

He gives me a lapel pin, too. It's a simple, plain silver umbrella, and it's his mark on me. I like the idea of that more than I should.

We mingle, oh god I hate that word, _mingle,_ with other psychos and criminals, talking business. I hear the occasional old rich fat guy say something about the women in the room, and I take it upon myself to glare my ass off in hopes I'd unnerve some of these sickos. Jesus H. There are a few pretty women in dresses that give me the _eyes_ but I ignore them.

"So, Cobblepot, you finally got yourself a bodyguard, huh?" a man asks, a cigarette in his mouth. He's young, got slicked back black hair and a generally sleazy way about him. I don't like him.

"Yes," Os- Penguin says, glancing over at me. I put on my best _fuck-with-my-boss-and-I'll-end-your-life_ face and square my shoulders.

The guy smirks at me, looking me up and down. I resist the urge to squirm. God, no. This is _not_ supposed to be about me, and now that it suddenly is I don't know how to shift the attention back to Penguin where it _belongs_.

"At least he looks good," and the way this guy talks about me like I'm not here gets on my last nerves. I clench my jaw and try not to snap. "I mean, _darling._ These shoulders?" he shoots Penguin a look dark with intent, shifts forward, and that's when I see the knife in his hand. Shit. I was never the objective. He was never trying to get to me.

And he lunges. I dart forward, putting myself between Penguin and the blade and _ow_! The knife grazes my left shoulder as I take him to the floor, but he puts up a good fight, lashing out with his other hand over my shoulder and hitting Oswald in the mouth. I growl, clenching my teeth in pain as I finally pin him to the floor. He thrashes underneath me, cursing. He jams the butt of the knife into my jaw, and I feel a sharp spike of pain spread through my mouth and blood burst on my tongue. I pin both of his hands, tossing the knife across the floor, and refuse to let my gasp of pain out of my mouth as he squirms.

A crowd is forming around us. Someone steps forward to take him away and Penguin pulls me back. I slap a hand over the wound in my shoulder. The blood is seeping through the suit and I cannot bring myself to care. I open my mouth- mistake. Blood drips down onto my sleeve and Penguin- fuck it, _Oswald_ gasps, yelling for the driver and dragging me towards the exit. I can't even really see, head full of flashbacks and mistakes- how could I have played this better?

"This, this right here, is why we can't have nice things," he mutters nervously, shouting at someone in the way of us. I wholeheartedly agree, silently.

As soon as we're outside I turn around and, with a grunt of effort, hold Oswald still while I make sure that bastard didn't do any lasting damage. If I find a bruise, I'm going back in there and that sleazy son of a bitch is going to die. That look of dark intent- he was never aiming for me, that was a warning to Oswald, a distraction, and he didn't _fucking_ didn't pick up on it.

I don't even realize he's talking, or that my grasp on his wrist is painful until he looks increasingly concerned and I tune back in to the present moment.

"Five, it's fine. I'm okay, I promise I'm alright. You can let go. I'm okay." I drop his wrist abruptly and look down. Blood is running down my suit jacket. But I'm not light-headed yet, so it's okay. For now.

"Good," I say, and my voice sounds deeper, angrier. I'm not pissed- I'm _enraged._ Mad that I didn't see what the guy was planning earlier. Upset that I let him get a shot at Oswald. And disappointed in myself, that I let my personal feelings for Penguin get in the way of my job to protect him.

My job. It's just my job.

All of that must have shown on my face because Oswald steers me toward the car and tells the driver to take us home.

The bleeding in my mouth has stopped, leaving the sour, metallic taste in my mouth. Meanwhile, the wound in my shoulder feels shallow enough that I'll make it easily. Oswald puts pressure on it regardless. _Smart man,_ I think. 

Oswald leans over, face and voice concerned. He asks if I'm feeling okay. The short answer? Yes, because I don't want him to worry. The longer answer? Emotionally, no. I'm numb, but also angry and upset and a little afraid. Physically, I don't care, so I'd count that as fine. I tell him the shorter one.

"Five," he whispers, as if he knows what's happening to me, and he probably does, because he wouldn't be the kingpin of Gotham without experiencing pain like this. I am stoically silent.

"I'm fine," I force myself to say again, voice rough.

"You are _not,_ " he insists.

"Why are you doing this?" I demand, all of my emotions coming to a head. "Why are you being so _nice_? I'm your bodyguard. It's my job to protect you, and I let that guy pop you in the mouth like I wasn't even there-"

Oswald cuts me off. "You're my _friend_ before you're my bodyguard," he says.

"If I was your _friend_ I wouldn't have killed that poor woman because you got _jealous_!" I retort.

"Can we not do this in a car," Oswald says, voice higher than normal. I shoot him a glare and settle back into the seat. Edward tries to deal with my shoulder but I shrug him off.

We pull up in front of the house. Oswald drags me inside, leading me into the living room. There's a fire already in the fireplace, probably courtesy of Olga.

"Now." Oswald sits me down and purses his lips. "I care about you." he stops and my mind goes blank. "There is no way any of this is still purely professional, especially with your reaction to the man back there." I scowl, the feeling of being called out eating at me.

"You're my friend," I say gruffly, shutting out every bit of me that wants to confess. _No._

"You're my friend too," Oswald says, voice filled with relief. 

We call it a night, I bandage my shoulder, and go to bed feeling empty. 

The next few days pass uneventfully. Nygma is busy doing whatever it is he does. Oswald doesn't leave the house much, so I don't either. I hang out with Ollie and read and occasionally find ways to climb onto the roof of the mansion. 

But I start to notice Edward's (but mostly his other weird side's) fascination with me start to spiral. It starts with innocent glances, then when the other guy takes over it becomes shoves up against walls and doors, predatory smiles and little murmurs of how pretty my eyes are. I'd be disturbed more if I hadn't been living in Gotham my whole life. I do understand that this... person and Edward are very different- and that what he wants may be quite different from what Edward does.

Next- the reason I hate myself for- the feelings for him (but mostly the other guy, as he's the one who talks to me). The stirring in my stomach only gets considerably worse as it continues to happen. The attention I get from him is fucked up, I'll be the first to tell you- but I've never been looked at like I'm something to be devoured, never been looked at like I'm the most desirable person in the room. And part of me likes that I'm finally getting that attention.

I can't tell Oswald that, though.

But I do contemplate telling him how I feel about _him_ \- I think about it a lot. And sometimes... sometimes I almost do it. It'll be a moment when we're alone, or maybe around other people, we could be sitting or standing, it could be anywhere, but it feels right. Like together we could take on anything and anyone.

I almost spit it out- "Hey, I think I'm in love with you." And then I think of how I'm apparently feeling it for two men and it makes the whole idea feel stupid and ridiculous. I just love him in secret.

And I don't tell him.

It's all fine until Nygma hands Oswald his letter of resignation, saying that he'd like their relationship to be more than just employer-employee. Oswald takes it as a _love confession._ Unfortunately he means it like _business_ partners, meaning that Oswald had just _confessed_ and it is suddenly shockingly clear that Nygma doesn't feel the same. 

A few nights later, I start to realize that Oswald isn't getting much sleep, and I can't deduce why. He's been preparing for an interview on national television, so maybe it's him pulling all-nighters. He's also been acting weirdly- jumpy and skittish. But when I ask he just shrugs it off and says he's fine. 

We go to the interview in the morning. Oswald sees something and goes back to being antsy, and it's kind of pissing me off. I want to know what it _is._ He has a full-blown meltdown during the interview. I put my head in my hands. The whole country will see him now as crazy. And it doesn't help that the interviewer asks about his stint in Arkham Asylum. 

Oswald goes off to handle business with Barbara Kean, and I sit on my bed and wonder why everything is going to hell in a handbasket _now._


	13. This Is Why We Can’t Have Nice Things

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Obsession. Secrets. Selfishness. It's all brought to light, but the real question is what is the cost?

**POV Five Jackson**   
  
  


It's quiet, just a little overcast but still warm that afternoon. There's a bridge in the middle of the city, and when I was homeless I'd sit on that bridge at night when the metal was still warm from the sun to stop myself from freezing. But when I get there, someone else is already there. The green-haired DJ from the club where I picked up the guy who looked like Oswald.

She's pale, threadbare black coat wrapped tight around her, lipstick gone. I haul myself up next to her and she shoots me a blank look, just cataloging my appearance. I get the chance to look at her close-up, something I didn't have the chance to do (and, quite frankly, wasn't really interested in) last night. Her face is almost heart-shaped, sharp cheekbones and a soft jaw. Her eyes are dark brown, almost black. She's got a little mole just by the side of her mouth, it reminds me of a movie star I used to know the name of. Her hair, it's bright green, yes, but her black roots show through. I think it's prettier this way.

"Hey," I offer after a few minutes. She looks at me again, up and down.

"Oh. You're the kid who went home with Thomas a few nights ago," she says.

"Not quite a kid," I snort.

"Really? How old are you," she says, eyebrow arched.

"Twenty-three," I grin.

"You look like a kid," she returns my smile, snorting. "I'm Snake."

It's my turn to raise an eyebrow. "Five. How'd you get Snake?" She grins and pulls the sleeve of her jacket up to reveal a scar, two dots on her forearm.

"A rattlesnake bit me where I used to live. I was a little kid, and it got infected and I almost died. The neighborhood kids started calling me Rattlesnake, then Snake for short."

"Better than my name," I smirk. "I had four other siblings, so I'm Five."

"Youngest?"

"Middle," I say.

She nods. "I was youngest," she tells me, and she tells me her DJ name is Snake, but all her friends call her Morgan. "You can call me Morgan," she says with a small smile. 

And we sit on that bridge, talking about absolutely nothing for at least two hours. At one point she pulls a joint and a lighter out of her pocket as traffic blazes by us. I shrug and let her take the first hit. We're stoned, she definitely more so than I am, and we lean against the metal rapports of the bridge and point out shapes in the clouds. At one point she leans over and just brushes her lips lightly over mine. It's barely a kiss, it's just a simple touch. Simple.

Everything with Oswald and Edward are insane and complicated, but here, on this bridge with Morgan, it's simple. With Oswald and Edward, it's dark looks, insane eyes and unspeakable tension. With Morgan it's quiet and soft, airy kisses and lightheadedness.

We make out lazily on the bridge, if you could even call it making out. There's no urgency, no need to touch each other besides her hands in my hair, and I don't want to fuck her. It's uncomplicated. A relief. She passes me the bag of weed she's got in her pocket and we make good use of it. We talk about what feels like everything and laugh at the strangest things.

It's 6:30 when I remember I've got something going on tonight. I tell Morgan, who just smiles and reaches up from where she lies on the metal, joint between her lips, to run her fingers through my hair. I look down and return her smile. I pluck the joint from her mouth and take a drag, giggling as I exhale the smoke. Morgan laughs with me, so I lean down, pressing my lips to hers, and she snickers into the kiss.

I hop off the railing and wave, her number in my phone and a smile on my lips as the pot leaves my head. She'd smoked more of the blunt than I had. I make my way home, hair undoubtedly messy with how much time her hands had spent tangled in it.

When I get home, nobody's there. I go upstairs again- I seem to be doing a lot of that lately- to lie on my bed and pet Ozzie and wonder _what the hell did I think I was doing, offering to do this job in the first place_?

And after another day of pretending I don't exist around Oswald, the man himself goes upstairs to his study. I get up, change into a white t-shirt, a black leather jacket and blue, faded jeans, and walk out of the main doors. I need air.

The next thing I know, I feel a sharp, needle-prick pain in the back of my neck and everything goes black.

I wake up tied to a chair in a dark place with a fancy window I struggle for a moment, pulling at my ropes and trying to figure out who would benefit from kidnapping me. 

"Don't try and pull loose. It won't work," a familiar voice says. _Nygma._

"What the hell, Ed?" I snarl. "Where the fuck have you been?" 

"Taking care of some things. _Grieving_ for my dead girlfriend, you know, the usual." he snaps back.

"Why am I here, Nygma?" I demand, looking around. _Oh_. I'm at The Sirens. Why am I _here_? Why take me here, of all places. 

"You'll see." he says darkly. "What do you know about Isabella's death?" 

"I know she's _dead_ ," I say in a perfect deadpan. 

He sighs. "I'm not _stupid_ , Five. I know Oswald killed Isabella. I want to know what you know about it." 

I have a decision to make. Do I lie through my teeth? Say I know nothing? And, by association, do I just say I know nothing about the situation at large, or say Oswald didn't do it? Or do I confess and drag Oswald down with me? 

Well, he already knows. What do we have to lose? I can't change his mind. _He knows_. 

"Sure." I shrug as best I can with the ropes on. "We killed her. Oswald gave the orders and I carried them out. Easy." 

"What did you _do_ ," he stresses. 

"Well, if you already know," I huff. "I cut her brake lines. Check her car, you'll see it." 

"Why." 

"Orders are orders," I say. "Look, I feel bad about it, alright? I feel bad that I did it and it killed her. I just didn't see another option. I'd have been _homeless_ if I hadn't done it. Oswald would have kicked me out."

"He wouldn't have," Ed argues. "He'd have found somebody else to do it." 

"You don't know that," I return. "You can't tell me he makes rational decisions often enough for me to know where the lines are." 

"So you admit that he told you to do it and you did." he says, voice tight. 

"Yes," I say, lifting my chin. "And if I had the chance, to go back, to make that choice again, I wouldn't have. But I don't. Isabella is dead. _I_ killed her. I can wish and you can mourn as long and as often as you like, but in the end it won't solve anything. It will not bring her back." 

"I _know_ that," he growls and turns away. "Tabitha and Butch were supposed to get Oswald and bring him here," he snaps at a silhouette I hadn't noticed standing in the shadows. In a nice dress. It's Barbara Kean. She was in on this the whole time. Of course. But why? 

"They _are,_ " she retorts. "Here they are now." 

"Keep your mouth shut," Ed snarls at me, pulling my chair back into the shadows. 


	14. Call It What You Want

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two gunshots.

**POV Five Jackson**   
  
  


It's Oswald, tied to a chair like me. He looks up at Barbara, Tabitha and Butch calmly.

"So. Here we are," Barbara says.  
  
"I suppose I underestimated you, Barbara," Oswald concedes.  
  
"It's the curse of great beauty." She tosses her hair.

"How did it go? You put together what happened to Ed's librarian- turned him against me."

"Honestly, wasn't too hard," Barbara says.  
  
"And then together you hatched a plan to destroy everything I made and kill me?"

"Pretty much. And brother, did you ever take the bait," she gloats. I grit my teeth. 

"Well, I hope you're happy at the head of the table." Oswald is more calm than I thought he'd be.   
  
"You know, the table is more or less littered with dead old dudes, but hey, it's a place to grow," Barbara says airily.  
  
"And now that you've got what you want, you don't need Ed anymore." He concludes.  
  
"Mmm," she says. That's a yes.  
  
"My, my. Didn't take you long to turn on each other."   
  
"You know, I think of it as a limited partnership that needs dissolving," she waves a hand.   
  
"So, I help you find Ed, things go better for me. I don't, you kill me. That about it?" Oswald asks.  
  
"Yeah." She says, looking up at him and grinning. I tense.

I know Oswald's a selfish child, okay? Anyone with half a brain can see it. But this? He's going to prove it, right in front of us. _Please don't give them what they want._

"One more question." he says suddenly. "Where's Five?"

"Your little redhead bodyguard? Don't worry. He's fine. For now," and Barbara pointedly doesn't look in our direction. Edward clamps his hand over my mouth. As if I'd talk now. "You're going to call Ed. Tell him you're alive. Tell him... oh, I don't care. But find out where he is," she orders.

"Why don't you call him?" Oswald says.

"Because he's not stupid. He knows that now you're no longer the head of the underworld, or anything else, we don't need him anymore. It is our time to rule."

"You understand if I feel compelled to refuse," he returns.  
  
"Give me five minutes. He won't refuse," Butch says with a creepy smile.   
  
"I'd do it in three," shrugs Tabitha.  
  
"Why you gotta do that?" Butch turns to her.

"What?"  
  
"Cut me down like that in front of people." I want to laugh. Oh my god. They're disorganized rabble. For all their great plans, they have some discourse they should work through first.  
  
"I'm just saying-" Tabitha starts.

"Would the two of you shut up?" Barbara snaps. "Give up Nygma. And save your own ass. Live to love another day." She stops, looks at Oswald. "Hey. Wow."  
  
"What's going on?"

"You have a weird look on your face. Like, weirder than normal."

"You're right." Oswald says. "I should want him dead.

"Should?" Barbara sputters. "Oswald, you loved him, and he betrayed you."

"Actually, I don't know that I did," he whispers. "Love him. Not really."

"What?" she demands.

"Ed was right. I thought I loved him because he saw me as no one had since my mother. And-" he stops. "But I killed Isabelle."  
  
"I'm pretty sure her name was _Isabella_ , but go on," Barbara rolls her eyes.   
  
"Because I wouldn't share him." It's like he's finally coming to the revelation that I've been dealing with this whole time. "Ed said love is sacrifice. I should have been able to sacrifice my happiness for his. I couldn't." He stops and looks up at Barbara. "But I'm ready now. I won't call Ed. I won't let you hurt him."  
  
She leans forward and exclaims, "So, you'd rather die than give up the man who tried to kill you?"  
  
"I would. Isn't that crazy?" Oswald laughs.

"Yes." Edward steps out of the shadows. "It is."

"Guess you're not as smart as you thought you were. He didn't give you up after all," Barbara shrugs.

"You're in this together?" Oswald asks, face twisted with confusion. "But why?"

"Because I didn't want to just take what you _had_." Ed growls. "I wanted to take what you _believed_. I wanted you... to _die._ Knowing that you were incapable of loving another person."  
  
"But I can. I just proved that, right?" Oswald laughs again. "Does that mean I passed?"

Edward doesn't respond. He's looking into space, confused.  
  
"Ed?"

"I..." Ed stops. "Don't know what it means."

Barbara just claps her hands and wraps it all up. "Well, Ed, it's your time to shine," she grins, and she, Tabitha, and Butch saunter off in different directions, out of the club and into the night.

(Barbara cuts me free before she goes, grinning widely at me.) So I follow as Nygma drags Oswald to one of the piers. It's not far. I see the flash of metal- he's got a gun in his pocket. He's going to kill Oswald.

"Ed, I love you," I hear Oswald pleading, back to the river. "I know you believe that now. So you need to listen to me when I tell you, by doing this, it will change you."  
  
"I've killed before, Oswald." Edward says sharply.

"Not like this. This won't be a crime of passion or self-preservation. This will be the cold-blooded  
murder of someone you _love_." Oswald says.  
  
"I. Don't. _Love you_." Edward snarls in reply. It makes me wince.  
  
"You need me, Edward Nygma! Just as I need you. You cannot have one without the other!" 

"Stop!" I shout. Edward whirls. 

"What are you _doing_ here?" He snarls.

"I killed Isabella. You know that. I _told_ you. He-" I fling an arm towards Oswald, "May have given the orders, but _I_ carried them out. I had a choice to disobey them and I didn't. I did it anyway." It's a weak argument. I know it will get me nowhere. But I have to try. I have to. 

Edward closes his eyes. "You said you didn't have a choice."

"I did."

"You do realize that Oswald sentyou to do his dirty work? He is- you are-" he turns to Oswald. "A selfish _child_. Unwilling to sacrifice anything for anyone." He looks at Oswald, whose tears are running down his face and mixing with the light rain. 

"That's not... that's not how it works!" I exclaim. "I can't just stop-" I gasp. "I can't stop caring about him, about _either_ of you! _Even though_ you-" I point at Oswald- "Probably tried to use my sister's memory for leverage to get you to spare him _and_ justification for killing Isabella. And I can't just turn it off for you, either, your weird other personality and your weird riddles!" I take a breath. "I became your bodyguard and put myself in harm's way for you because I care about you."

"But that's exactly it!" Edward exclaims. "You would sacrifice yourself to help him. Us. That. Isn't. Selfish. But he would never. _Never_! Do any of those things for you!" He's angry. I take a step back.

"I don't care," I whisper. "Because in the end- I would do all of those things again. Regardless of whether or not he would do the same for me."

"And I could have loved you too," I say, because I've got nothing left to lose. I don't even know where to go after this.

"I don't care." He says.

"Call it what you want, but now you know." I shrug and force myself to calm down. "I... I couldn't have asked for anything else."

He looks over at me. "You could have." 

"I'm sorry," I say quietly. I don't even know what I'm apologizing for. Maybe it's to Edward, for killing Isabella and not doing anything to stop it. Maybe it's to all the people I could have helped, could have _saved_ but didn't. Maybe it's to Oswald for selling him out like I did. "But I did this. I killed her, I caused this. Please don't kill him. He didn't do it." 

"He ordered it." Edward's voice is cold. 

"I said I wanted to take everything from you," he turns back to Oswald. "You killed Isabella. And I-"

"The point is..." Oswald cuts in.

"That- _is_ the point!" Edward snaps. "You can't talk your way out of this, Oswald! I have wanted you to suffer, as I've suffered. _You_ killed her. So _you_ die." I want to protest but Oswald is pressing forward.  
  
"When I met you, you were a nervous, jittery loser. You were nothing! I _created_ Edward Nygma!" he shouts. "And I am the only one in the world! Who truly sees you as you are. Who you can still become." his tone loses its venom. "You can't do this."  
  
Edward is silent. "Ed, are you listening to me?"   
  
"I'm listening." he says quietly.  
  
"Say something," Oswald pleads.   
  
"I loved her, Oswald." he looks at him. "And you killed her." 

He turns, aims his pistol at me, and fires. 

It feels like a punch in my shoulder, at first. My shoulder feels tight and hot, like I got hit with a baseball. I drop to my knees, looking down and seeing blood seeping through my shirt and into my jacket. Why didn't he shoot me somewhere fatal? 

Oswald is talking but everything is white noise in my ears. Another gunshot. And I look up just in time to see Oswald press his hands to his stomach gunshot wound, blood seeping through his fingers. Edward tangles his fingers in Oswald's shirt. And pushes him into the river. 

I walk on my knees and one working hand, since the other feels numb from the bullet, over to the edge. I'm breathless. I see Oswald's bloody corpse sinking into the water and disappearing. I let out a gasp, a ragged sob. The pain is starting to creep in. I want to pass out so badly, I don't know how much I can take of this. 

Edward is watching. 

I let myself fall onto my back, looking at the grey sky and feeling the raindrops on my skin. It feels like I'm fading away. My hand has fallen away from my shoulder and I'm bleeding freely. 

I want to hate him. I want to hate Ed and Oswald both, but I can hardly blame Edward for pulling the trigger. Twice. I'm not happy about it, I'm half dead because of it, but I understand. And even if Oswald never loved me that way, I loved him. Maybe he used me. But either way, I would still have made every decision I made again. To protect him, because I was in love with him.

And if that's selfless, then it's the most selfless thing I've done in my life.

I take a breath and let everything go black.


	15. New Year's Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Finale.

**POV nobody (3rd person)**

He opens the little box of white pills and pops one in his mouth. Turns around.

"What did I tell you about dripping on the couch?" he asks testily. He's talking to a man in a dripping wet black three-piece suit sitting on his fancy couch.  
  
"You are the _only_ person I know who frets about his drug-induced hallucination making a mess. But..." the man gets up and moves, making a _squish_ sound as he goes. He stands in front of the first man, in a dark green suit. "If it makes you happy."

"Thank you." he sighs.

"I wonder- how long you will be the public face of grief when people hear that you killed your best friend?" the black-haired man asks sardonically. 

"And me too." 

The green suited man whirls. Behind him is a young man, with red hair and pale skin, wearing blue jeans, a black leather jacket, and a white, bloodstained t-shirt. He leans against the back wall. 

"Wh- You aren't supposed to be here," he says, voice filled with surprise. 

"What, you weren't expecting _all_ of the people you shot to come back as drug-induced hallucinations?" The redhead raises his eyebrows. 

"No," the green suited man stutters and turns to the man in the black suit. 

"Well, you _did_ leave my body at the pier. Really, go to such lengths to dispose of the mayor, but not me?" he _tsk_ s lightly. "Careless."

"You are much more cocky than I remember," the man in green mutters. 

"I'm dead. I can say what I want now." the red haired man shrugs. 

"And then there are your... extracurricular activities," said man butts in.

"How many are we up to now? Five? Six?" the redhead grins.

"There was the curator," The suit says.

"The writer, pretentious ass," The other man adds.   
  
"It's so frustrating. They all fit the profile, high l.Q., driven, creative. Yet each one failed," the green suited man starts to pace.  
  
"You must be the first person in history to go on a killing spree in order to find a _life coach_ ," the black suited man snorts.   
  
"Maybe you should..." the red haired man pretends to think, and leans forward to say sarcastically, " _Ditch the riddles_."  
  
"No. A good riddle reveals the asker," the green suit man insists. "To solve it is to solve the mystery of the person _posing_ it. If I can find someone to solve my riddles, I can find someone to help me."   
  
"Do you really think you're going to find someone who can teach you how to be a villain?" The black haired man snorts.  
  
"Yes! Of course I am. You said yourself, there is no Edward Nygma without the Penguin," he points back at the black haired man. "But knowing who I am, and knowing how to be him, those are separate things."  
  
"Ed, villains do not have _teachers_!" he retorts. "I made myself into the Penguin when I threw Fish Mooney off a building. I didn't have anyone's help." 

"Oh, how interesting." Ed whispers. "Perhaps I'm thinking about this all wrong."  
  
"Obviously," the redhead rolls his eyes.  
  
"I don't need a teacher. I need an enemy."  
  
"No, that is not-" Penguin argues.  
  
"The greatest villains have always been defined... by the men that try to _stop_ them! And I know the perfect man."

"Don't even-" the red haired man pushes off the wall.  
  
"Please, do not say..." Penguin follows.  
  
"Jim Gordon." They all say together. 

_**~ a few days later, at a chess tournament ~** _

"Thanks for coming," Ed says. 

"Like I had a choice," Penguin snorts.  
  
"Oh, you'll thank me. This is gonna be electrifying."  
  
"Knight to Queen three. Mate in two," Ed calls quietly.

"Quiet, please." says a woman, her voice faint on the floor of the theater.

"Oh, honestly. They call anyone a Grandmaster these days," he rolls his eyes.  
  
"Can we discuss why you're doing this?" Penguin has popcorn, and is eating it like a starving man.   
  
"I've told you why."  
  
"The _real_ reason," the redhead pops in. He's sitting in a red fabric-covered chair with his legs kicked up on the railing behind them. Ed looks just as confused as he did when the other man popped up the first time. He wasn't there a minute ago.   
  
"See, Ed, the trouble with talking to projections of your psyche," Penguin pauses and laughs, "And you of all people should know this- is that _they_ know _everything_ you know. Including the things you're trying not to know."

The redhead suddenly appears at Ed's other side. "Gordon can't help you. No one can."  
  
"Face the truth," Penguin says, almost gleefully.  
  
"There's the GCPD. We'll see you around, pal," the redhead claps Ed on the back. "Until then." 

"Goodbye, Five. Oswald."  
  


**~ End ~**   
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! I hope you enjoyed this book. It's my pride and joy atm and I'm very proud of it! Here are the three (3) main Easter eggs and things you may have missed throughout the book.
> 
> 1\. Each chapter title is a song from Taylor Swift's album reputation. It was a huge inspiration for this story and I felt it needed to show. (You probably already noticed that, especially my Taylor Swift fans.)
> 
> 2\. Every chapter has the name of the song or a song lyric in it somewhere. Look closely, because some of them aren't easy to find unless you're looking hard.
> 
> 3\. There's also an Eminem lyric in here. comment if you find it ;)
> 
> ~ Rewritten September 2020 ~


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